The Hound and His Little Bird
by XxXMorganXxXLEAHXxX
Summary: The Hound came to her in the night as green fire filled the sky. All he wanted was a pretty song from a pretty girl. But seeing her alone and terrified, he wants to steal her from King's Landing. Keep this little bird safe and sound. After all, pretty birds deserve to fly from their cages. SanSan rated M for Sandor's language and implied themes.
1. Chapter One: Safe and Sound

**The Hound and His Little Bird**

**Chapter One: Safe and Sound**

Everything was a blur. She knew what she had to do, where she planned to go, but for the life of her, Sansa couldn't remember a second of it. All she remembered was running out of the Queen's ballroom, away from Ilyn Payne and all the terrified women, and away from her own fear. She didn't know why she was afraid. They all thought the battle was lost. That should have been a good thing.

…Then why did she feel dread pooling in her stomach? She knew Stannis would keep her safe. She was sure he'd want to make alliance with her brother, use her as the tradeoff. Still, it felt like she was just trying to convince herself.

Tears spilled over her cheeks. She wiped at them angrily as she hurried through the halls to her bedchamber. Someone, a guard or a man she wasn't sure, bumped into her down the stairs. Several items tumbled from his arms, but she didn't pay any attention to him. She just needed to get to her room. There she could bar her door and keep safe until she knew the outcome of the battle.

She stumbled on the stairs, tripping over her dress. She hit the stairs hard, accidentally smacking herself in the face. She tasted blood in her mouth and wiped at her lip. She felt something warm, it had to be blood, but she couldn't tell in the shadows. She'd have to worry about it later. She got back to her feet and started to run.

As soon as she reached her door, she hurried to slam the door shut. Once it was bolted, she leaned against the hard wood with a sigh of relief. At least no one seemed to notice her absence. She prayed that no one would say a thing to the queen later… She stumbled through the dark, towards her window, and threw open her curtains. She almost gasped. The sky itself seemed to be bright green, filled with the color of the wildfire all over Blackwater bay. It was almost magnificent, but more terrifying than anything. For a moment, she wished Lady was with her. She whimpered softly and stepped away from the window towards her bed.

"Just go to sleep, everything will be better in the morning," she whispered, tumbling towards her bed. She tripped again as she reached her bedside. Suddenly, large hands were there, catching her. She cried out in shock, but it was muffled by a hand was over her mouth.

"I've been waiting for you, Little Bird," the stranger rasped. It was the Hound. Why was he on her bed? Had he been sleeping there? "Don't make a sound or else I will kill you."

Reluctantly, she nodded her head. She tried getting up altogether, but the Hound kept one arm on her waist, the one that kept her from falling. "What are you doing here? Did something happen at the battle? Is Stannis winning?"

The Hound laughed humorlessly. "You'd like if he'd won, wouldn't you Little Bird?"

"No, I've been praying for Joffrey's victory-"

"Don't start with that shit! I know how much you hate that fucker." He took a deep swig from the flagon and laughed. "I hate to tell you, but Stannis isn't going to be much better. You're just fluttering from one cage to the next."

Sansa ignored his comment and asked, "I'm not fluttering from one cage to the other. Why are you here other than to mock me? What happened?"

"I have no idea. All I know is I've lost."

Just how drunk was he? "What did you lose?"

"Everything." He took another deep drink from his flagon. "I should have killed them all years ago," he muttered, mostly to himself. She wasn't sure what to say to that. She was almost afraid to speak, in case she upset him. "Guess none of this matters now. I'm going."

"Going?"

"There's your little chirping… Yes, I'm going. Getting out of this burning city, away from all these fuckers. Probably out of the iron gates, somewhere. Perhaps North."

She wasn't sure what to say, other than, "You won't be able to get out. Everything's been blocked off-"

"I've got my bloody white cloak. No one'll stop me. Even if they try, I'll kill them." He stared down at her, just as the sky lit up with flames. She noticed all the blood on him, over his face, his clothes, it was everywhere. It almost made it harder to look at him.

Suddenly, he touched her lip with surprising gentleness. It still stung slightly. "Did someone hurt you, Little Bird?"

"Just the stairs," she mumbled, glancing away. "Why did you come here, if you're leaving?"

"I want the song I was promised. I want to hear if the Little Bird is as good at singing as she is at her chirping."

She was confused. When had she promised to sing him a song? "I never promised a song. Besides, I told you I don't know any anymore." Was he going to hurt her? "Please let go of me."

He growled, suddenly shoving her onto her bed. He was overtop of her, looking at her, actually looking at her. She looked away. "Look at me." The tone of his voice made her look again. He was all she could see, feel, smell… It was all of smoke and blood and wine. It made her nauseas. It didn't help she felt far too warm with him over top of her. He spoke quietly, "I could keep you safe. They're all afraid of me. No one would hurt you again or I'd kill them." Was he offering to bring her with him?

He pulled her closer. For a moment, she wondered if he was going to kiss her. She closed her eyes instinctively. "Still can't look at me?" She felt the cool feel of a blade at her throat. Her eyes flew open. "I want that song now. Florian and Jonquil. Sing, Little bird, sing for your life." Every song, every lyric, and just about every word flew from her head. Her throat tightened up and it felt like she was going to be sick. _Don't kill me, please._

For some unknown reason, she reached up and cupped his burned cheek. She could feel the stickiness of the blood and the warmth radiating off the skin. His scar wasn't as rough as she imagined it would be. She managed to clear her throat and said softly, "I don't know any songs. But I do know I don't want to be here alone. Take me with you."

The blade slipped away from her neck. "Little Bird," he said once. He got off of her and she leaned up. He shocked her by grabbing her suddenly and throwing her over his shoulder.

"What are you doing?!" she nearly shrieked in surprise. Then she asked, "You're actually going to take me with you?"

"I said I would, Little Bird. Now, be quiet."

"Wait, I need to grab things! I can't just go with nothing." When he opened his mouth to argue, she added, "It'll just be a second." After a moment, the Hound reluctantly slipped her off his shoulder.

"Be quick, now." His tone set her hurrying to her bedside. She grabbed two dolls, the last ones her father had given her on their way to King's Landing. Next was her wardrobe, where she grabbed a small satchel, two spare changes of clothes and reached way back to grab a small leather notebook. She'd been keeping it since her Father's death. She shoved all the items into her bag. Just as she was turning around, the Hound was picking her up again over the shoulder. This time, she only gasped softly. He didn't comment, just grabbed his flagon on the bed and unbolted her door.

She could feel him hurrying down the stairs, swaying with his steps. It was like she had super senses at this moment. She could feel everything, the cool of the air, the dampness as the blood from the Hound's armor soaked into her clothes, and where his hand was holding her on his shoulder, wrapped around the middle of her thigh. His touch was almost too warm and made her thigh tingle slightly. She couldn't help, but remember when he'd grabbed her like this last time, in Flea Bottom. The thought made her squeeze her eyes shut and grip onto his cloak. She tried focusing on something else.

Before she knew it, they were outside. The air felt unnatural hot. He went straight towards a small side building. As he was ducking inside, the Hound set Sansa on the ground. He tore the blood soaked cloak off his shoulders and threw it over her shoulders. "Cover yourself up. We don't need anyone spotting that hair." As she adjusted it on her shoulder, he grabbed his horse, Stranger. To her surprise, Stranger was already saddled up and had a pack on.

"Why was he here and already saddled?"

"In case the city fell. There's no way in hell I'm dying over some Lannisters. Come here, girl." He picked her up and set her in the saddle. He swung up right after her, pulled her up against him and started out of the stable at a full run. "Whatever happens, stay as close as possible and keep the cloak over your head. I don't need you getting in the way." She nodded silently, glancing up at him. He didn't look back.

Sandor Clegane had the horse at a fast pace, up until he spotted the gate. She pulled the cloak around her tighter as he started slowing the horse down. "Don't chirp one word, I'll deal with them." He slid down from the saddle and took hold of the reigns. As expected, the guards stopped as soon as he was in range. "Open the fucking gate," he barked, glaring down at the three boys in front of him. They were obviously new recruits, pulled from their homes to fight in Joffrey's war.

"Uh, sorry ser, but we're under strict orders from the Queen-"

"I have my own fucking orders, you cunt. Open it now, before I skin you all alive."

Two of the three boys looked ready to soil themselves. They stumbled over each other in their haste. The last boy wasn't quite as smart. He noticed Sansa on Stranger. She tried tucking into herself a little further.

"The Queen said absolutely no one was allowed to leave the city. Why would she have you escorting someone out now?"

Within a second, the Hound had pulled his sword from his scabbard and nearly sliced the poor boy in half. Sansa almost cried out, but bit her lip. She did start to protest as he started up behind the other two boys. One of them spotted the dead soldier and pulled out his sword. Their swords met with a loud clash. The other recruit tried coming from behind, but Sandor hit him straight in the face with his elbow. He swung down, cleaning cutting through the first soldier's arm. The boy cried out in pain, but it only lasted a moment and then he was missing a head. The Hound turned back towards the last soldier, who was trying to scramble away in fear. "You don't have to hurt him!" Sansa nearly yelled, leaning forward on Stranger.

"Shut up, girl." He put his sword straight through the boy's belly. Then he pulled it out and slid his sword back into its scabbard without wiping off the blood.

"Why did you kill them?!" she demanded as soon as he started back up into the saddle.

"Do you want the Queen after you as soon as the sun rises? Do you want them blabbing about how I took off with the family's _precious possession _or do you want a few days ahead of them before they send out a fucking army after us?"

She hated that he had a good point. "Two of them didn't even notice I was there," she mumbled.

"Oh, they noticed you, Little Bird," he replied. With a flick of the reigns, Stranger was off. It was just seconds before the horse was at his full speed. Sansa nearly slipped off, but the Hound was there to keep her in the saddle. He kept an arm around her waist until she got balanced. He kept the same pace for some time, until Sansa's bottom was past being numb and started to hurt. She kept her mouth shut, for fear that the Hound might change his mind. Now that she was free, she didn't want to go back.

It had to have been miles and miles before the horse started to slow down a bit. Stranger slowed down more when Sandor led him off of the King's road into the woods. There wasn't a sign of the sun and the adrenaline from the night was beginning to wear off. She yawned widely, but tried to cover it up.

It didn't fool the Hound. "It's going to be a long trip. Try sleeping, Little Bird."

"I'm fine," she tried lying, but the yawn that followed betrayed her. Still, she tried not going to sleep. Being out in the forest like this made her nervous. She didn't want to close her eyes and have something happen. So, she ignored Sandor's suggestion (which soon turned to a demand). She tried making one-sided conversation, but she started yawning after almost every sentence.

After about the fiftieth yawn, the Hound lost his patience. "You're going to go sleep right at this moment. I'll knock you out if I have to," he warned. He was trying to be patient with the Little Bird, but she was quickly annoying him.

Reluctantly, she asked, "How am I supposed to sleep on a horse?"

An annoyed look crossed his face and he scowled. "It's not that hard. Just lean back, I can hold you up."

"Uh, are you sure that's okay?" She felt herself beginning to blush and ducked her head. "I don't want to make you uncomfortable or more exhausted."

For a moment, the Hound was quiet. Then he surprised her by saying, "It'll be fine, Little Bird. Now lean back, I'll keep you from falling off." Slowly, Sansa settled herself against the Hound, finding as comfortable of a position as she could. Once she'd quit wriggling around, Sandor wrapped an arm around her waist once more this time with his large hand settled on her hip. She rested her head against his chest plate and closed her eyes. Surprisingly, she felt extremely comfortable. She was warm snuggled up in the white cloak, the sway of the horse moving was almost like a rocking, and for some reason, the thought that the Hound's arm was around her waist made her feel safe.

"Wake me up when we stop?" she murmured sleepily, already starting to fall into the abyss.

"I will, Little Bird," he said softly. For the first time since her Father's death, Sansa felt safe and sound.

**~A/N~**

**So, this is my first time writing GoT. I've always imagined Sansa going with the Hound at Blackwater Bay. Well, here's the start to my thoughts. As I started thinking about this more, I got curious about SanSan and started reading other fanfics of the two. At first AryaXGendry and DanyXDrogo were my favorite couples, but now this has topped it. While it can seem a little weird for this couple at first, I can't help but love them. Besides, it's not too much different than Dany's marriage.**

**This story will be a struggle to write, as I have to write the characters as close to their personalities in the book. That's about as close as the plot is going to get. Obviously, I'll keep some of the key plots in the story, but I'm taking all my own twists as well. Hopefully, whoever reads this enjoys the story.**

**The first chapter was inspired by the song Safe and Sound by Julia Sheer.**

**R&amp;R**

**XmX**

**~11/30/16 Update~**

**So, after quite a bit of reading and rereading through these chapters, I finally started editing through these chapters.**

**I want to give thanks to a reviewer Swimmon1966 for a great pointer for my writing!**


	2. Chapter Two: Regrets

**Chapter Two: Regrets**

The sun was barely in the sky and still, the Little Bird slept. It had only been a few hours, but the Hound had expected her to wake up already. In reality, sleeping on a horse was extremely uncomfortable. Yet somehow Sansa was fast asleep.

To make matters worse, he was sobering up in a very bad way. He had run out of wine within the first hour of riding and he hadn't thought to bring more. The lack of wine was worst of the situation because he was sobering up about his decision to bring Sansa.

What the hell had he been thinking? He would have been able to get away with telling the King to fuck himself and leaving the city, but stealing Joffrey's plaything was asking for a death sentence. He wouldn't be able to go to Inns and get drunk. Or sleep comfortably. It was a drunken mistake to bring her and he almost turned back to take her to her cage several times. Then he'd remember all that happened to her, being stripped in front of all those so-called Knights, being beaten, and nearly raped, and he couldn't do it. Reluctantly, he pushed the horse forward, further away from the burning city and any chance of returning to the South again.

Well, fuck them all. He'd hated the South for some time anyway.

There was a lot they had to do soon, before the Queen focused on getting Sansa back. They probably had two days at most, if they were lucky enough. More likely, there would be an army sent out by the end of the day. Thankfully, riding all night at least gave them half a day at least. Even better, there hadn't been any witnesses to trace the two of them together. As far as the Kingdom knew, he'd disappeared shortly after ditching the fight. He hadn't been anywhere near the Red Keep at the time.

He was sure the Spider or Littlefinger would be trying every possible trick to find Sansa's trail. Inns and brothels would be out of the question probably after this night. Even then, it would be risky to try staying in their current conditions. Especially the girl. She was very memorable. They'd have to do something with her hair and keep her in his damn cloak at least.

Finally spotting a stream close by, the Hound lead Stranger over to it. His horse needed some time to rest and drink and he needed to piss. As Stranger stooped, the Hound gruffly told the girl, "Get up," while shaking her slightly. She mumbled in her sleep and slowly cracked open an eye.

"What time is it?" she murmured, planning on closing her eyes again. After a moment, she looked back at him, as if she was just remembering who she was talking to and where she was at. Then she was looking down at herself, cuddled up against his armor, and she quickly sat up. "Oh, I-I'm sorry, ser," she stammered, blushing slightly.

"I'm no ser, I've told you this already," he growled. He slipped down off of Stranger and helped lift the redhead off. As soon as her feet, touched the ground, she swayed slightly and flinched. Obviously, she'd be pretty sore. "We're stopping for a quick break. Stretch out while you have the chance. Don't wander off." He barely wandered into the tree line to relieve himself. It was better to keep close, in case anyone happened to go by. He doubted it too much, but he didn't dare risk it. As much as he hated it, he'd promised to bring her back safely to Winterfell.

As he walked back to their little clearing, he noticed she was near the stream, crouched down at its edge. He wandered down near there, first towards Stranger. He reached into one of the saddle packs and pulled out some dried meat and hard bread. There wasn't much, just enough for a few days at most. If they rode long enough today, they'd have time to stop at a small village. It would give them time to rest at an Inn and get some extra food and supplies. And wine, lots of wine.

"Girl," he barked, instantly catching her attention. Noticing the food in hand, her face lit up. He figured it wasn't what she was used to, but it had to be better than being hungry. All ladylike, she took the offered food and settled down by the edge of the stream to nibble on the food. He fought the urge to mock her for it and sat down himself, armor creaking slightly.

After several bites, Sansa cleared her throat and asked, "Where exactly are we heading? I know you mentioned Winterfell last night…"

"Would you rather go to your home or to your mother and brother?" he rasped, looking out at the water.

"Umm… probably to my mother. At least so she can know I'm safe. Then, maybe to Winterfell. I don't know exactly…" She looked extremely unsure.

"To Riverrun then."

"What are you going to do, once you bring me home?"

For a fleeting moment, he was silent. What the hell was she trying at? She should be happy enough that he took her from King's Landing. Gruffly, he told her, "I don't got a clue, girl. Free cities maybe. Or every brothel to drink as much wine till I'm in my grave. Don't matter much. Let's get moving." Reluctantly, she nodded and stood up.

"Thank you for the food," she mumbled, barely looking at him. He grunted in response, already walking over to Stranger. He could hear her shuffling along behind him. Once he was sure she was right behind him, Sandor turned around, grabbed her waist, and hoisted her up on Stranger's saddle. His horse huffed in response, but a quick touch on his side calmed him. He climbed up behind Sansa and urged Stranger to a steady speed.

For a while, everything was quiet, besides the sound of horse steps and the stream close by. Within half an hour, the Hound could sense Sansa looking at him, again and again. The few times he actually met her gaze, she quickly averted it and started looking at something else. It was obvious she wanted to ask something, but he really didn't want to hear anymore chirping this early in the morning.

Apparently, she worked up some courage for she cleared her throat and quietly chirped, "What's the plan for now?"

"There's several things. We'll need provisions and a place to rest for tonight. If you want to stay at an Inn tonight, we'll have to do something about your hair." He noticed her touch one of her dirty locks.

"Like what?" she asked cautiously.

"Make it dirtier with mud and cut some off. It's far too neat for peasants. And it'll become a hassle the longer we're in the forest."

Reluctantly, she nodded at him. "That's fair. My hair can be easily remembered."

"We'll stop for one night at an Inn. Can't risk anything longer than that. Within the next few days, the Queen will have a search party out or you. I'll have a bounty on my head as well. That's if we're lucky they didn't connect our disappearances."

She nodded again. "When will we stop?"

"Close to nightfall," he grunted. By the tone of his voice, he assumed she understood to shut up. He really didn't feel like explaining everything to her at this moment. He was pissed off as it was, hung over, exhausted, and completely out of wine. She seemed to take the hint, for she didn't bring up the topic again. She seemed content to settle down in the saddle and watch the scenery. That was more than fine with him.

They rode for a couple hours before Sansa started to seem antsy. She fidgeted around again, playing with her hands some. She didn't raise her voice about anything, so he started to ignore it. That was when he realized she was staring at his hands. She kept glancing back between his and hers, as if it was the most fascinating subject in the entire world. At this moment, it probably seemed like it. He was sure she was bored.

Eventually, he reached and grabbed his flask that he'd filled with water. He took a large swig himself, wishing terribly for any kind of wine, sour or sweet or watered down, and then offered it to the girl. She gave him a hesitant smile, said her thanks quietly, and took a sip. It was always courtesies and flatteries with her. They needed to fix that. There was no reason for her to keep chirping her false words anymore. That was worse than her pointless chatter.

Glancing up at the sky, he found it was a few hours past midday. He slowed Stranger down until he stopped. Sansa twisted around and asked him, "Why are we stopping?"

"Hair," was all he said, already getting down. He waited while the little bird twisted around in the saddle so she was facing him and then took hold of her waist. She put her little hands on his shoulders as he picked her up. It was the first time she done that. She seemed just as surprised with herself. "Sit on that rock," he ordered, nodding towards it. He took Stranger's reigns to lead him to the stream again. Stranger needed to keep his strength as long as possible as well. He added another horse to his list.

Once his horse was settled, he turned back around towards the little bird. She was just now scrambling to sit on the walk. What the hell had she been doing now? Scowling, he walked over to her, already pulling out the dagger at his hip. She stared at the blade nervously as he came up to her. "How short are you going to cut it?" she asked quietly.

"Probably half. You'll have plenty left over," he snapped, glowering. "It's just some hair. It could be a lot worse. You could be left with him still." He noticed her stiffen at the last part. Ignoring it, he crouched down behind her and picked up part of her locks. He had to admit, it was a shame to cut it off. It had grown out quite nicely.

As he made the first cut, he told her, "We'll make sure to get you bathed once we're at the Inn. We'll leave early enough so no one can recognize you." The locks fell slowly at his feet. He grabbed random bits, cutting them all at uneven angles. He made sure to keep the shortest locks below her shoulder blades. She didn't need it all hacked off.

"How long do you think we'll be out here?" she asked.

"A while. Depends on how fast we move."

After a moment, she said, "My neck already feels lighter without all my hair. It's a strange feeling."

Reluctantly, the Hound stepped away. It seemed like it was cut enough. And it did look like quite a hack job. He probably could have done less to her hair. "Don't fly off Little Bird. I'm going for the mud."

"What's it supposed to do?" she asked, turning towards him. He noticed her hand automatically went to the back of her hair, to feel what happened.

Did he have to explain everything to her? "The mud will darken your hair enough to draw less suspicion. If I'd thought this through, I would have grabbed some dye. Didn't have enough time."

"Thought this through?"

"Why is are you repeating what you hear?"

"I'm just asking… from the sounds of that, you hadn't planned on taking me away at first."

"I hadn't."

"Then why…?"

Instead of answering, the Hound scooped up the mud at the bank, stepped back over to her in five strides and dropped the mud straight on her head. She gasped loudly in surprise and turned to him. "What the…? Why would you do that?!" It didn't surprise him she didn't swear.

"Just be quiet and keep your mouth shut," he growled. He started running the mud through her hair, mud clumping up at odd places. He wasn't a hundred percent sure how to get all the dirt out without washing it all away. But to his satisfaction, the places where the mud didn't clump up ended up much darker. Once it dried, she'd hopefully be much less recognizable. "Go run some water through your hair, just enough to get away the clumps."

She made a face, but stood up all the same. "Turn away then. I'll have to get out of…" A blush stained her cheeks and she looked away from him.

He barked out in laughter. "It's not like I haven't seen a naked woman before. No need to be shy, Little Bird. I won't stare too much." She flushed deeper and surprised him by shoving his shoulders. It didn't do much, but seeing the frustrated, embarrassed look on her face just made him smirk more. It always amused him to ruffle the little bird's feathers. He straightened up and nodded towards the stream. "Hurry up now." Then he turned and walked over to Stranger. He reached into the saddle pack and pulled out an old apple for the horse. Eagerly, he took the fruit from Sandor's hand. He heard a splash from further down and glanced out of the corner of his eye. He could partially see Sansa out of the corner of his eye, just not enough to make out a full view.

A few minutes later, she finally came over to them. He turned around to see what happened with her hair. She was utterly covered in dirt. She truly looked like they'd been in the forest for weeks. "Why are you staring?" she mumbled, looking at the ground.

"You look like shit," he told her, a smirk on his face when she glared at him.

"It's not like you look much better," she snapped, wiping her hair from her face. Anger rushed through him and he glared. He noticed shocked expression that came to her face and she looked at the ground. "I'm sorry, I-"

"Get on this damn horse," he replied shortly, his voice laced with anger. He didn't bother looking at her as he hoisted her up rather roughly onto Stranger. The horse snorted angrily, but the Hound ignored it and climbed behind the girl.

#

#

Sansa felt terrible as soon as the sentence came out of her mouth. She was sure his scar was the one thing in life that made him feel horrible. She saw the look on his face and the anger that had come in his eyes. He'd been relatively tolerable since leaving the palace. Even semi-pleasant. But now, he grabbed her roughly as he lifted her to the saddle and stiffly got behind her. Early, he hadn't seemed to mind if she leaned against him, which she had part of the morning. Now, he was sitting as far from her as possible. When she glanced at his hands, they were clutched so tightly to the reigns they were white. She wasn't sure what to say or to do. This was her fault, she had to fix it. Right?

For quite some time, she tried to find the right words. Glancing at his face only told her he was very angry. She glanced back at his hands and slowly reached out to touch one. He jerked away instantly and growled lowly, "Don't touch me." She tensed up, glancing at him nervously. He met her gaze for only an instant, a dark look in his eyes. Sansa turned away and quietly said, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean what I said."

"Everything that comes out of your pretty little mouth is what you're thinking, girl. I'm not a fucking idiot." She flinched at his tone and lowered her head.

"I… I'm just sorry." She looked at him for a moment, but she couldn't distinguish his look. She settled back to looking at the scenery quietly. After a while, she noticed Stranger was moving towards a trail. She looked up at the sky and noticed it was much later in the day. It was amazing just how fast time could go by… She hesitated a moment before asking, "How much longer do you think it will be until we get at an Inn?"

"Not much longer," he answered shortly. Was he still pissed?

"It'll be nice to sleep in a bed tonight. And get all this mud off," she started. She was hoping that maybe he'd actually talk to her. He was the only one still on her side at this moment.

"Shut your fucking mouth." Obviously, that was a loss. He hadn't even called her little bird in sometime. While she wasn't a huge fan of the nickname, it would be nice to hear it now. At least he hadn't tried hurting her. He'd never raised a hand to strike her before, she definitely didn't want that happening now.

It hadn't been more than a couple hours when she spotted an Inn. It was obvious the building was in rough shape. At once, the Hound led Stranger into the tree line closest to the Inn. "What are you doing?" Sansa asked him softly. For some reason, she felt like she needed to be quiet.

"Have to see who all is here. Can't have a bunch of Lannisters here," he rasped, then asked, "Do you really have to ask about everything?" She frowned, but kept her mouth shut. He was just upset from earlier, there was no reason to try egging him on.

Once they were closer, Sandor got down from the saddle and took Stranger's reigns in hand. They walked around the Inn, until they could spot the stables. Surprisingly, almost every stall was empty, except for two of them. "Doubt anyone of importance are here," he said. "Let's get Stranger put away and see what we can do about a room."

She swung her leg around and was surprised when he suddenly put his hands on her waist and picked her up from the saddle. Once again, she put her hands on his shoulders as soon as she was off the saddle. For a moment, she got distracted by his size again. His shoulders were wide too! She was tiny compared to him, she realized, as her feet were put on the ground. She tried to ignore her aching thighs and her numb behind and barely stumbled as she moved around just a bit. The Hound handed her his bloodied cloak first, grunting at her to put it on over her head. While she got the soft material settled on her shoulders, she watched him unhook both of their bags from the saddle. When he turned back towards her, he nodded. "Just put a hood around your head. Don't start with your chirping, I'll do the talking."

She nodded and wrapped the cloak close around herself. She followed as close as she could until they were in the Inn. The place looked as rough inside as it did outside. There were obvious places that needed to be updated and fixed and several of the tables were leaning more to one side. Part of the place was shrouded in shadows and some of the windows were barred shut. On a good note, there were very few people sitting at the tables. The few that were at tables were too busy drinking to pay any attention to them walking in. Sansa was grateful for that. She hadn't been at a place like this before and it made her nervous.

As soon as the door to the Inn opened, the owner was already up and making his way towards the Hound. When he glanced at Sansa, he visibly paused and asked, "What troubles have you two been in?"

"Her home was plundered through a bit ago. Last survivor, this one. We're looking for a room for the night and a bath for the poor girl. She's still pretty traumatized. Hasn't said much since I rescued her."

"Sure you weren't the one doing the plundering?" the man muttered as he came to peer closer to Sansa. She kept her head ducked and made herself look shocked. It really wasn't all that hard, just conjuring up some memories of Joffrey did the trick. Glancing at Sandor out of the corner of her cloak confirmed he was holding in quite a bit of rage.

After a moment, the man called back, "Winny, get out here!" When he turned back, he told the Hound, "My wife'll help get her cleaned up good. We can give you one room for the night, so long as you're able to pay."

As a reply, the Hound pulled out two gold dragons and handed them to the owner. "Can that get us some food and good wine as well?" he asked as the owner looked at the pieces with wide eyes.

"Covers the food for tonight and in the morning," he said eagerly. "And as much wine as you'd like."

_That's definitely not a great thing to offer to him, _Sansa thought, but kept her mouth shut. At that moment, a middle aged woman came out from the back, wiping her hands on a stained apron. As soon as she saw Sansa, she came right over.

"Oh, dear, what happened to this girl?" she asked, sounding concerned. While the owner explained the situation, his wife tutted softly and put her arms around Sansa. She even managed to flinch away good and leak out a few tears. It had to have been pretty good acting, for even the Hound looked pretty impressed. "Get them a room situated and I'll have Tinnie get a bath ready," Willy ordered, leading Sansa away from the Hound. For a moment, real panic seized her and she actually grabbed hold of the Hound's arm. She wasn't sure why, but it felt impossible to trust these people. To trust anyone really.

Noticing Sansa's real panicked look, the Hound crouched down in front of her and rasped at her softly, "It'll be okay, Little Bird. Just shout if you need me. Remember what I promised." After a moment, she nodded and slowly let him go. She glanced back at him as Willy led her back towards the back of the Inn.

**~A/N~**

**I'm glad at least some people seem interested in this story. This chapter was definitely a rough one to write. I'm extremely particular how I portray my characters and Sandor is one of my most particular ones. If I can't get his character to a good point, I'll scrap the paper and try again. I'm still not overly fond with how he is, but I've done the best I can. I don't expect him to be overly crude as he was with Arya, but he isn't softhearted either. He's inbetween and it's extremely difficult to get to a good ground.**

**I haven't been able to quit writing this story since I started it. While I'll have quick updates now, I can't promise the same pace through the entire story. There's still a lot of plot I need to work out. Let me know how you think the chapters and characters are.  
**

**Thanks for reading. R&amp;R**

**XmX**


	3. Chapter Three: The Inn

**Chapter Three: The Inn**

Willy had Sansa sit down on one of the table benches, then she hurried off in back to get the girl name Tinnie. A moment later, a dark haired girl scurried out past Sansa without a glance. Then Willy was back. The first thing she did was trying to remove Sandor's cloak, Sansa kept it closer to her and shook her head in refusal. She was trying to keep this terrified façade for as long as possible. It would give the Hound's story more truth to it. "Oh, girl, just let me help you. That cloak there needs to be washed and washed good. You'll be lucky if that blood there even comes out."

Slowly, Sansa released her grip on the cloak and let Willy tug it out of her hands. She kept a blank face while the innkeeper's wife looked her over. "Is any of this blood yours?" Willy asked quietly, examining Sansa's face. "Obviously, the busted lip is, but did they touch you?" Sansa shook her head, wincing away from Willy's touch. Inside, she was marveling how easy it was pretending to be damaged. It was real easy to pull from past experiences. "There's blood all over. Don't think we'll be able to salvage this dress. Blood would have stained all the pretty colors. Is a nice dress too. You a highborn?"

She shook her head again and mumbled so quietly, "He took it. Mine were in fire." She kept her sentences short, almost like it was difficult to speak. She even shivered, to add a nice touch. Willy tsked and reluctantly handed Sansa back the Hound's cloak. She wrapped it around herself gratefully. The blood should have bothered her, but for some reason the weight of cloth made her feel safer.

"Hair's been hacked to pieces too. His doing?"

"Snarls in the forest." She took to looking at the ground again and forcing herself to cry a little more. She was surprised she had any tears to let out. Willy patted her leg and told her, "I'll check on that bath. Don't worry, we'll take good care of you." Sansa nodded, but kept looking at the ground.

Once she was sure Willy was gone, she glanced back where the Hound was. He and the Innkeeper were still talking about something, almost like a negotiation. He met her eye while the Innkeeper was talking and nodded at her. She couldn't help, but smile slightly. She must be doing good… She took to looking at the ground again until Willy came back. As soon as she did, Willy took her arm and tried pulling her to her feet. She was actually startled when she did that and pulled back from her. Willy coaxed her to her feet and helped lead her up the stairs.

She was led to the last door at the left and this time, Sansa let Willy take the cloak without argument. The dark haired girl was just finishing up with the bath and paused when she saw Sansa. Did she look that bad? "Don't stare, Tinnie," Willy snapped. "You can go, help serve the customers downstairs." The girl curtseyed quickly and scurried out of the room.

Sansa flinched and moved away when Willy started unlacing Sansa's dress. "Girl, we gotta get you out of these clothes. Hold still." She kept still while Willy worked away her dress, until she was down to her small clothes. Sansa took those off herself, pretending to be hesitant. Slowly, she sunk down into the tub. She couldn't help, but sigh softly. The best part was the water smelled faintly like lavender. "Feel pretty good?" Willy asked.

Sansa nodded, tensing up a bit when Willy crouched down beside her. Quietly, she told her, "Thank you."

Willy nodded, already taking a small cup and dumping some of the warm water over her head. Sansa watched dirt dribble down into the water as Willy put some sweet smelling liquid in her hair. "You could use a thorough scrub down. I'll help you if you don't mind."

Sansa nodded and said, "I won't mind." She kept her voice quiet and her movements short and almost jerky. It all seemed to work well for her.

For a bit, Willy was quiet, just scrubbing away at Sansa's hair and skin. Then she started asking questions like, "What's your name? Who all was your family? Is anyone still alive? What exactly happened?" Sansa kept her answers short, keeping it all as fake as possible. She made her family smaller, only a sister, brother and father and that they were all dead. She decided on the name Nyma, faintly remembering Arya's Nymeria. She made sure to add the fact she hadn't spoken hardly at all to the Hound. She told Willy that "Little Bird" was his nickname for her, since he didn't know her name yet. "He is a different kind," Willy mused as Sansa finished scrubbing herself.

Sansa tensed slightly. "He's done as much as he could for me," she said quietly. "He's kept me safe." And it was true, he had kept her safe since her father was killed.

"Good. What's his plan with you anyhow?"

"Taking me to a cousin near Highgarden." She thought it would be better to keep their trail the exact opposite of where they were going.

"Mmmhmm. Now, let's talk about this hair. We have to fix this mess," Willy commented, picking up a lock.

"What about some bangs*?" Sansa asked softly. "I've always wanted to try it. Mother used to have bangs." She wondered what her mother would say when she saw her.

Willy nodded in approval. "Good idea. I'll go get some trimmers. Be back in a moment." Sansa noticed the plump woman grabbed Sandor's cloak on her way out. Sansa really hoped she got the cloak back. She'd grown rather fond of it. She turned to the task of scrubbing all the dirt from her skin. Even when she couldn't see it anymore, Sansa could still feel the grits on her skin. She scrubbed until her skin was red and felt raw. She really hated mud! She still couldn't believe she'd agreed to being covered in it.

After a couple more minutes, Willy came back, with a pile of things in hands. The first thing she did was check over Sansa and then handed a towel to dry herself with. Once dried, Sansa was offered a rough spun dark dress. It wasn't as silky as the dressed in King's Landing nor as warm as her clothes in Winterfell, but she found she was more than okay with that. Then she was at the ministration of Willy to fix Sandor's hack job. She hated to see how much of it was cut away yet again. She had no idea how much she'd have left. Then Willy started brushing some of her hair in front of her eyes. "Now, you sure you want bangs?"

_Not really, _she thought, but said, "Yes." Then she watched those locks fall down, into her lap and fingers. It was like a brand new start. It actually felt kind of relieving. Once Willy was done, she offered a small looking glass for Sansa to see her hair. She felt like she was looking at a completely different person. She looked past her swollen lip and realized how much different she looked already. The bangs alone gave her face a sharper shape and an older look. Her hair was just past her shoulder blades, not trimmed quite as neat as in King's Landing, but it gave her hair some layers almost. "Thank you for this," she said, turning to Willy. She made sure to keep her head tucked down.

"I'm glad I could help you," she said gently, smiling. "Now, let's get you back downstairs, so you can get some food into you." Sansa's stomach rumbled in response. After a small nod from Sansa, Willy started leading the way back downstairs. She followed close behind, pausing at the bottom of the stairs to look for the Hound. At once, Sansa could see him further back in the Inn. Sansa turned to Willy and thanked her softly. The Innkeeper's wife patted her arm and told her quietly, "I did leave you some extra clothes upstairs. They had been my daughter's at one point, but she don't got much use for them now. And don't try arguing with me neither," she added when Sansa opened her mouth.

Reluctantly, Sansa nodded and thanked her once more. Then she made her way over to Sandor. He glanced up at her when she paused a foot away from the table. He gave her a one look over, and slowly nodded. "The Little Bird looks different now, especially with the hair."

"Oh, thanks," she mumbled, looking at the ground and slowly sat down across from him. "I told the wife my name was Nyma and that we're on our way to Highgarden."

"You're getting smarter," he noted, taking a deep drink from his cup. Sansa could smell the wine wafting off of him already. She wondered exactly how much he had already. She glanced at the food on the table. There was a couple bowls of soup, two loaves of bread, and two small birds that Sansa hoped were chickens. She didn't make a move to grab any of the food, because she wasn't sure what was hers.

The Hound must have noticed her hesitation, for he said between drinks, "Help yourself to whatever."

"What's your food though?"

"Whatever you don't eat. I get the scraps. I'm a dog, remember?"

"You shouldn't call yourself that. It's cruel and untrue," she commented, slowly pulling one of the bowls to herself.

"It's exactly what I am," he snapped at her, grabbing one of the chickens and biting into it.

"I don't think you are." The soup smelled surprisingly good, much better than all the food they'd eaten all day. It was kind of bland and watered down, but there was some turnips and maybe some carrots. There were even a few chunks of some meat, but Sansa decided not to worry about where it came from.

"Little Bird, grow up. Out here, I'm a dog and you're just a plain woman and it's all fucking screwed up. Don't bother trying with the courtesies and fake chirping. All it will do out here is get you beat and fucked."

Sansa looked down at her food, suddenly losing her appetite. She was aware of the fact the world was horrible, she'd learned that plenty enough at King's Landing, but hearing Sandor talk like that was just... She knew she should eat more, but she pushed the half empty bowl away and grabbed a loaf of bread. She'd think about eating it later. She stood up and told the Hound quietly, but sharp, "I'm aware of how worthless my fake words are out here, but those are the only thing I've had to fight with since coming to King's Landing. And you're not a dog; just a cruel, bitter person."

Without another word or looking up at him, she left the main room and went back upstairs to the bedroom. As soon as the door was closed, she closed her eyes and let out a shaky breath. For a moment, she felt like she was going to cry. She had no reason why she was so upset about what he'd said. "It was stupid to come with him," she mumbled, finally opening her eyes. Too bad she was stuck with her decision...

She took a moment to look over the room. There was only one bed, a small fireplace, an empty tub, and washbin. Next to the washbin, there was a small stool that had a pile of fabrics Sansa didn't recognize and the packs she and the Hound had brought. She walked over there and picked up one of the unrecognized clothes. It was a beautiful deep green dress, with short sleeves and a V cut neckline. It must have been some of the clothes the Innkeeper's wife had told her about. Curious, she slipped out of the roughspun dress she wore and tried slipping on the dress. It fit very well; the dress was a little loose actually. She noticed it was slit in the middle. They must have been riding dresses, but she didn't have any breeches... That's when she noticed a light gray pair on the top of the pile. She picked them up and grinned. Yep, they were riding breeches. She tried those on as well and was happy that they fit comfortably around her waist. The outfit was pretty average, but Sansa loved it. It would be perfect for travel.

She tried the other dresses on. There were two more, both for riding. One of them was a very dark blue with dark breeches and the other was a light violet one with very light breeches. She made a note not to wear the violet one too often because she didn't want to stain it up. She folded up the blue and violet one carefully and put them in her satchel. Thankfully, they fit snuggly beside her other two dresses in her bag. They were the only ones left from Winterfell and she didn't want to have to leave them behind. She kept the green one out for tomorrow.

She pulled out her little book from the satchel and closed the bag. Then she grabbed the dress she was wearing originally. Just as she had slipped it back on, the bedroom door opened. She spun around, expecting it to be the Hound, but was relieved when it was only Willy. "What are you doing up here?" Willy asked, setting down the buckets she'd been carrying. Sansa noticed the steam rising instantly.

"Oh, it's just... the men downstairs made me nervous. I'm just... it's unnerving to be around them," she stammered, bowing her head and hunching her shoulders just a bit.

Willy tutted and said, "I should have thought of that myself. Well, I'll send up your food then."

"No that's all right, I ate my fill already," Sansa said, then added, "I saw the dresses. They're beautiful."

Willy nodded, picking up the buckets again. "Never could get my girl to be a proper one. Much preferred the horses and swords and boys. It was the closest to getting her into a dress I could." Sansa instantly thought of Arya. She wondered if Arya would wear a dress like the ones she had. If Arya was still alive...

"What happened to her?" Sansa asked, realizing Willy talked over her like she was dead.

Willy shrugged. "'an't sure. She just up and disappeared one day, leaving just a note. Didn't even know she could read, much less write."

"I'm sorry," Sansa said, walking over and setting her book on the bed.

"I'm sure one day I'll see her again. But anyhow, I've been working on that cloak of yours. Not all the stains are coming out, but it no nearly as bad. Is a really nice cloak, royal. That man of yours is something." Sansa tensed instantly, glancing at the older woman. She was busy pouring the second bucket into the tub.

"I don't have a clue," she mumbled, "We haven't exchanged much pleasantries."

"Man like that don't save a girl for nothing either. What's he want out of you?"

Reluctantly, Sansa told her, "Gold. Thinks my cousin will pay for me. I told him I not worth much."

"I'm sure that cannat true. You're worth plenty, 'specially towards family."

Sansa shrugged. "We'll see."

"Gonna fetch the rest of this water. That man needs a plenty washing as well. Won't be staying here covered in blood like that." Willy disappeared from the room once more. Sansa hesitated a moment, then went back over to her pack. She pulled out the dolls she'd grabbed last night and brought them over to her bed too. Once she was settled in the bed, she took a bite out of the loaf of bread while setting her dolls in her lap. For some reason, she felt better having them near her. It was like having a part of her father with her.

She opened up her little book. It wasn't much, average leatherbound, but to her, it was everything. She'd started it since her Father had died. It made everything that happened at King's Landing just a little more tolerable. She wrote everything down, keeping a close account of every detail. She decided to create her own form of letters that only she knew, that way no one would be able to read what she wrote. Otherwise, she was sure her handmaids would have taken it straight to the Queen. If they had ever found out about the book. There was a little pouch tied in one corner, which she kept an inkwell in. Her writing quill was used as the bookmark.

Sansa got the inkwell and quill out, sat there for a moment thinking, and started to write;

_Blackwater Bay._

_It should have been an exhilarating night, I was going to be saved from the Lannisters. Stannis would have taken the city, bargained me off to Robb and Mother and soon enough I'd be on my way home. The war would have ended. And maybe it's close already. I haven't a clue._

_I'm not at King's Landing anymore. I'm at some Inn now, with... Clegane or the Hound. I won't call him that. He's not some animal or of small intelligence. And he most certainly isn't obedient. He's his own man, with his own plan._

_It all started when the Queen disappeared from the room..._

_S_he wrote down all the events in her own letters, carefully remembering the details. She filled up two pages by the time she got down the final details of the Inn. The sun was almost down now and the room was starting to get dark. Willy had just finished coming with the last bucket of hot water and had even given Sansa a shift to sleep in. Sansa was yawning while she put her things away. She changed out of the dress, slipped on her shift, and curled up under the blanket with her dolls close.

She fell in and out of consciousness for some time. It was strange to sleep in some other bed and it wasn't overly comfortable. Then at some point, she heard the door opening. She was drowsy and at first only tensed. She peeked out and noticed it was the Hound. She could smell the wine as soon as he'd closed the door. He stumbled around a bit and then she heard Willy as well.

"Take off all those clothes and give 'em to me. Gotta get them all cleaned up."

"They're fine, woman," he growled.

"No, they not. They'll be good and ready early tomorrow. I know how early you plan to leave. Everything'll be good and the bags will be ready."

"And a horse. We need another horse."

"Yes, yes. Now get out of those clothes." After a moment, Sansa heard the sound of his armor coming off, followed by the rest of his clothes. Then she heard him sink into the water. Was it even warm still? "Left you something to sleep in for the night. Don't disturb the girl neither, she's exhausted." Then the older woman was gone, leaving Sansa alone with a terrifying man.

She kept still and tried to pretend being asleep. She was suddenly wide awake, but there was no way she was going to sit up. She didn't want him to talk to her or say a word. She just wanted peace and she wanted to be left alone. So she lay there, listening to him wash himself, curse plenty, and drink tons more. Then he was making his way out of the tub and drying himself off. He cursed plenty more when he tried keeping his balance and then he was pulling on some clothing at least. Sansa didn't have a clue as to how much.

Was he going to sleep on the floor or something? Since there was one bed after all. There was no way he'd... Her thoughts were interrupted when she heard him come over to the side of the bed. She felt the weight of the mattress shift and the bed groan softly. Then he was laying down beside her. She tensed up, until she was as stiff as a board. Was he going to try something?

She waited some time, listening carefully. He drank until his flask was empty and then, cursing, he dropped it onto the ground. After a while, he settled down in the bed. Sansa waited until his breathing deepened and she was sure that he was passed out, and she turned in the bed. There was still a small flame in the bedroom and let a little light shine on the Hound's face. Surprisingly, his scars didn't look too bad. Curiosity peaked in her and she reluctantly reached out to touch his scars. They felt the same as when she touched them in her room. His skin was warm and rough, but for some reason Sansa didn't mind at all. Why had she found the scars so appalling before was beyond her.

Slowly, she curled back up in bed and managed to fall asleep within minutes.

**~A/N~**

**So here's chapter three! It took a bit longer to write this out, only because I was at the hospital with my brother. Sorry for the wait, but hopefully this chapter was pretty good. There wasn't as much communication between Sansa and the Hound, but there's plenty to come.**

***Bangs: I'm not sure whether or not that had been a great idea and I wasn't sure what else to call them in this story**

****Pants: Again, haven't a clue as to what to call these otherwise. Let me know if you have a different name.**

**Hope everyone enjoyed reading it!**

**R&amp;R**

**XmX**


	4. Chapter Four: Restart

**Chapter Four: Restart**

She woke with a start, startled awake by a rough shake. Instantly, she noticed the figure above her and almost shouted out. Before she made a sound, the Hound covered her mouth and growled fiercely, "Keep your damn voice down." Sansa's heart was racing, but slowly she calmed down. She nodded and was relieved when he removed his rather large hand.

She glanced at the window and noticed that it was still dark out. "Why are we up so early?" she asked, sitting up in bed. She made sure to keep the covers tight to herself, there was no way she was letting him see a thing.

"We're leaving now. Can't have anyone sober seeing us," the Hound rasped. He was busy trying to reattach his breastplate. He cursed, picked up his flask and took a deep drink. Then he started trying at his breastplate again.

Sansa hesitated and then offered quietly, "I can help." She'd helped her brothers in Winterfell, when Robb and Jon had wanted to try sparring with armor on.

"I don't need bloody help. I've been doing this long before you were born, girl," he spat.

"I was just trying to help. I just thought you wanted to save time," Sansa replied softly, getting out of bed. She noticed he wasn't paying attention to her at all and her clothes were a straight shot without him seeing her at all. She didn't see much point in trying to cover herself with the covers. So, she stepped over to the clothes quietly.

She was surprised when Sandor said suddenly, "Fucking help me with this. Shit ties aren't working this morning."

Reluctantly, Sansa said, "Okay," and slowly walked over to him. He was sitting on the bed with his back to her. She climbed up on the bed and scooted up behind him. She had to be on her knees to reach the tie for his breastplate. She easily tied the strings and asked, "Is that okay?"

"It's fine. Be downstairs in five minutes." He stood up abruptly, knocking Sansa back on her behind, and closed the room door. _He could have at least said thanks, _she thought with a huff. Sansa climbed off the bed and went back over to the dress she'd laid out the night before. To her surprise, there were small clothes setting on top of the pile. Had Willy left them out last night? With a shrug, she pulled off the shift she had been wearing and the small clothes from last night and pulled on the fresh ones. She slipped on the breeches first, followed by the dark green dress.

She turned and noticed a brush was sitting beside the washbin as well. Gratefully, she picked it up and started brushing out the snarls from the night. It felt strange to only be brushing half the hair she'd had just yesterday. With a sigh, she put the brush down and turned to grab her bag. She opened it up to double check everything. It was then she remembered; the dolls! Of course, how could she have forgotten about them? She went right back to the bed and searched through the sheets until she found both of them. She held them close for a moment, and then carefully put them in her bag.

She slung her bag over her shoulder and quietly closed the door. She hurried down the stairs, but paused when she reached the bottom step. She could hear Willy talking, something about extra packs. Reluctantly, she stepped off the stairs and walked over where Willy and the Hound was at. The Innkeeper's wife noticed her instantly and said, "Hurry up now. We'll have to get my girl saddled up for you. We want you out as soon as possible."

"Wait, I'm confused. What's going on?" Sansa asked.

"I told you you're fucking recognizable," the Hound growled, "She figured it out easy." He looked pretty pissed at this moment.

Willy tsked at the Hound. "Now don't worry about any of that. I know she's important, the hair itself says it all… along with what you were wearing. You not gonna find a dress that fits that well off of some random lady. Besides, everyone knows who you are," she directed at the Hound, "It don't matter anyhow, you're getting away fast as possible 'fore anyone comes alookin'. Now, take off those slippers and try on these boots." She shoved a pair of dark leather boots in her hands. They looked like pretty good riding boots and her slippers were wearing thin. She slipped off the slippers and pulled on the boots. They were a little tight and pinched her toes a bit, but she figured it could be worse.

Sansa nodded and said, "They fit fine, thank you."

Willy nodded and started handing her and the Hound both several bags. "There's extra food, all we could spare, wine, and water. Also got a bag for Nyma there or whatever your name is. Don't want to know, makes it easier to keep this secret. Now, come on."

Willy was already hurrying out the back door by the time she finished her sentence. Sansa glanced at the Hound and asked softly, "Will this be okay?"

"Gotta be," he grunted, already going after her. Reluctantly, Sansa followed after them. As soon as she stepped over by the stable, she saw Sandor reaching for his sword.

"Don't do that!" Sansa ran without thinking, dropping the bags and grabbing hold of the Hound's sword arm.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" the Hound growled, wrenching his arm free instantly.

"She's not going to say anything," Sansa said, folding her arms over her chest. "They don't know who I am and don't have a clue where I'm going. You aren't killing them!" She hadn't raised her voice, but she could tell the Hound was surprised by her outburst.

She could feel her cheeks heating up, but she continued to stare at him, challenging him. There was no way she'd be able to stop him if he decided to kill them, but still she had to try. He glowered at her, staring at her with dark eyes. She shifted nervously and was tempted to look away, but she forced herself to continue to stare. The few seconds they had their stare down felt like an eternity. Sansa could feel a bead of sweat trickling down the back of her neck and she swallowed nervously. The light nickering sound broke the phase. Sansa looked past the Hound, towards the entrance of the barn. Willy was leading out a real pretty light brown horse with a dark face.

Sansa smiled brightly and walked past the Hound to the horse. "Oh, the horse is beautiful," Sansa told Willy, offering an open palm for the horse to smell. She giggled when it started nudging her hand.

"She's a good horse, strong rider. You'll want to get out as fast as possible," Willy told Sansa, "Got this for you. That white cloak is too suspicious out in towns. This'll be much better." That was when she noticed the dark cloth in Willy's arm. It was a very plain dark cloak.

"I can't thank you enough for all your help," Sansa told her as she took the cloak. She could hear the Hound walking up behind them, by the creak of his armor.

"Get these packs on her," the Hound grunted at Sansa, shoving the bags in her arms. She realized he'd picked up the ones she'd dropped when she ran at him. Before she could say anything, he was already disappearing into the stable.

Willy shook her head as she took some bags from Sansa. "I'm sure surprised you chose that one as your companion," she told Sansa. "He's something else."

Sansa nodded her head, thoughtful, and then told Willy, "He is, but he was the only honest person around me." With a shake of her head, Sansa started stringing up a couple of the bags. Then she asked, "Why are you so willing to help?"

"I'm thinking you're escaping from some place. Most like King's Landing. Got no place round here that you can afford a gown like that."

Sansa flushed and tugged at one of the straps. "I would have been dressed differently, but we left rather suddenly. I-"

"Sorry, girl, but I don't wanna hear this tale. Less to tell whoever comes here lookin' for you." Willy patted her hand.

Before Sansa could reply, the Hound was bringing Stranger out. "Throw some bags over here," he said absently, adjusting a strap on Stranger's saddle. Reluctantly, Sansa threw one at him. He caught it without looking at her and started strapping it up.

They all worked in silence for several minutes. Willy spoke towards Sansa when there was only the last bag in hand. "Now, I made this bag up special, just for you girl. It's got everything someone like you needs at a time like this. That and the white cloak." She shoved the bag into Sansa's hand and turned towards the Hound. "Move as fast as possible. I don't know the exact direction you're going, so go as far as possible in any direction and then head in the right one. We'll make sure none these folks remember ya from last night."

The Hound nodded and turned to Sansa. "You able to get up on that horse?" he asked her. Sansa nodded and turned towards Willy.

"Thank you so much for all this help," she told the Innkeeper's wife. She made sure to fasten the dark cloak around her shoulders and hooked the bag on her saddle. Then she climbed up onto the horse without trouble. The Hound was already up and ready to go. As soon as Sansa was situated in the saddle, Sandor started off. Sansa turned to thank Willy one last time, then turned the horse towards Stranger.

It took a minute to catch up with the Hound and Stranger and once she did, he picked up the pace instantly. Within half a minute, she wasn't able to see the shape of the inn in the gray light. She pulled up the hood of her cloak, put her head down, and kept quiet for some time. There didn't seem to be much point talking at the moment. Besides, it was peaceful at this time of the morning. In King's Landing, she had always enjoyed the few moments of the early morning light because she knew she was safe then. Sure at this moment, the morning was unusually chilly, but still everything seemed peaceful. The sound of the hooves and the chirping of some birds further off was some of the best things Sansa had heard in a long time. This was the sound of freedom. She loved it.

After a while, the sun began peeking over the horizon. Sansa wasn't sure how far they rode, but she was already sore. It was a lot worse than yesterday. She wondered when she would grow used to riding in a saddle. She really hoped it would be soon, because she knew they'd be on horseback for some time. Reluctantly, she opened her mouth, "How long do you think it'll be until we get to Riverun?"

The Hound didn't answer her right away and she wondered for a moment if he wouldn't. Then he answered gruffly, "Don't got a clue. Depends on how much luck we'll have, how long you can manage on a horse each day, and what the Trident looks like. Could be just a few weeks, could be lot longer."

Sansa nodded and fell silent again. She knew he wasn't in the mood to talk, so she went back to riding on her horse quietly. Then she remembered the pack that Willy had given her. She twisted around in the saddle and reached for the bag. The straps came undone easily enough and then she was facing front again. The horse seemed to know that she had to follow Stranger, so Sansa didn't worry too much about keeping hold of the reigns. She opened the pack and peeked inside. Sandor's cloak was on top, so she took it out and carefully set it on her lap where it wouldn't fall. Then she looked in at the rest.

She found three books inside first. They were all books she'd never read before. None of them were the stupid stories she'd read at Winterfell, but they didn't seem like the one's Maester Luwin had. She wanted to open them up and read, but she resisted the urge and carefully put them back in the bag. There were some cloths for her moonblood. Thankfully too because she'd completely forgotten about that when she was fleeing. There were some extra small clothes, not as nice as the ones she had at King's Landing. She found it much more appealing. That was when Sansa noticed something wrapped in a cloth tucked way to one side. She made sure to tuck everything in carefully and then pulled out the small cloth.

Just as she was about to open it up, she noticed her horse stop. She looked up and noticed the Hound was starting to dismount. "Why are we stopping?" Sansa asked, reluctantly throwing the bag over her shoulder and carefully slipping down. She made sure not to drop the little bundle in her hand.

"Gotta piss. This is far enough anyhow. Eat." He threw the small bundle at her, and then he wandered off into the forest. Sansa opened up the food bundle, surprised by the bread, cold meat, and even a little tart. It was what she hadn't eaten last night. He'd saved it for her? That was… surprising. And really nice. Reluctantly, she took a small bite of the bird from last night. It was definitely a chicken. She relished the taste of the bird and started nibbling at some of the bread as well. Within a minute, most of her food was gone. She hadn't realized just how hungry she was.

By then, the Hound had returned and grabbed his own ration of their food. If they only ate twice a day, the food would last much longer, but he suspected the Little Bird to eat more than that, so he kept his portions smaller. As soon as she realized he was back, Sansa gave him a small smile and said, "Thanks for saving my food from last night." He grunted in response, ripping apart half of the bread and nearly eating it all in one bite. He took a long swig of wine to wash it down.

Sansa greatly enjoyed her small tart and then she grabbed a flagon of water that Willy had strapped on the mare and drank a bit. She knew they'd need to ration everything, so she tried keeping her drink to a minimum. She felt full enough, so she turned back to the bundle she'd discovered in her pack. She sat on a rock and started undoing the tie.

She was surprised to see two shining daggers at her. They had four inch blades with deep colored hilt. She tested the edge of the blade and gasped softly when the blade bit into her skin. The blades were definitely sharp. She stared at the line of blood bead up around the cut and glanced at the Hound. He hadn't noticed yet. Quickly, she tucked her thumb against her palm to stop the bleeding and started to rewrap the daggers. Sandor interrupted her by asking, "What you got there, Little Bird?"

He surprised her by being right in front of her. Out of habit, she ducked her head and said softly, "I found them in the pack Willy gave me."

"Let me see." She offered the entire bundle, cloth and all, and glanced up at the Hound when he started examining the blades. After a while, he grunted and said, "Not bad I guess. Now you can't use the excuse you got no weapons except for your annoying chirping."

"What do you mean?" Sansa asked, carefully wrapping up the blades.

"You'll be learning how to use those at every break we take now. Won't be many, but every night you'll be working until you're so sore you can't move your arms."

"I-I can't use these," she stammered, "It's not proper-"

"Isn't nothing proper 'bout squatting in the woods to piss or running off with some dog."

Sansa flinched and said, "You're not a dog."

"Don't even start with that shit," he growled. He turned away from Sansa and started back towards Stranger.

After a moment, Sansa stood up and said, "I'm just going to go use the bathroom fast." For some reason, she had to actually use the bathroom now. She went into the trees, just enough where the Hound couldn't see her, undid her breeches, and squatted. Once she was done, Sansa laced herself up and went back towards her mare. She tucked the daggers back into the pack and climbed up into the saddle.

"Let's get going," the Hound grunted, climbing up into his own saddle and starting off without looking after Sansa. She started the mare after him and said to her softly, "He really isn't much company today, is he?" The mare shifted slightly and her ears flicked back towards Sansa. She leaned over and rubbed her neck softly. "I should name you," she continued thoughtfully to the horse. "What about Malia?" She whickered softly.

Before Sansa could say more, the Hound snapped, "Don't start naming the thing. You'll probably lose it soon enough. And shut your mouth." Reluctantly, Sansa grumbled under her breath and settled back in the saddle quietly. She didn't really feel like pushing the Hound's patience and with him drinking, it was hard to tell how he was going to react. She didn't want to push him over the edge…

They traveled for a quite some time in silence. By the second hour, Sansa was yawning widely and bored out of her mind. At the third hour, she tested the waters on the whole talking subject. The Hound dealt with it for minutes, before he barked at her to quit talking. Reluctantly, Sansa said, "No, because I'm bored and you won't do anything other than drink and brood."

The Hound turned to her, glaring fiercely. "You want something to fucking do?"

Sansa swallowed nervously and reluctantly said, "It would just be nice to talk."

"I'm not a fucking talker, Little Bird," he spat, turning forwards again.

"I can do the talking… just reply once in a while?"

"Fuck that."

Sansa huffed. "You're the most frustrating person to travel with, you realize that?"

"You could have stayed back in your fucking cage."

"No, I'd much rather be out here, sweating and uncomfortable on a horse," she said, sarcasm evident in her voice.

"It's better than being beat and raped, isn't it?"

Reluctantly, Sansa agreed quietly and started back in the saddle quietly. She could always read one of the books Willy had given her. So she reached back, hooked the bag around her wrist, and set it on her lap. She carefully moved the white cloak to the side and pulled out the thinnest book in the pack. It was close to about three inches thick. When she opened the book, she realized it was history of the Children in the Forest. She hadn't read much about them before and wondered just how Willy acquired this book.

Unfortunately, she hadn't gotten too far into the book before she realized Malia was starting off into the forest. "No, no, no," she mumbled, shoving the book against her lap and taking hold of the reigns. She'd thought this would work better… She sighed in frustration, shoving a lock of stray hair from her face. Grumbling, she shoved the book back into the pack and kept an eye on Malia once more.

After several more hours of boring silence and Sansa's attempt to make conversation, the sun read at about late afternoon. The Hound had them stop again, to piss and eat a bit. She ate all the food eagerly, her stomach growling, and then wandered into the forest to squat again. She hadn't realized she'd drank so much water in those hours riding. She was sore as could be, her thighs raw and chaffing and her muscles screaming in pain. She stretched out eagerly, trying to loosen the knots in her back too.

When she was done stretching, the Hound surprised her by shoving the small cloth of daggers in her hand. "Start practicing," he told her gruffly, drinking out of the third flagon of wine they had. She prayed they were almost out of wine. While he was much more short tempered and cranky, she preferred that over the drunk quiet he had created around himself.

"…What do I do with them?" she asked after a moment, slowly unwrapping them.

"Have you never fucking touched a dagger?" he snapped. At the sheepish look on her face, he growled in frustration. "I should have found your fucking sister. At least she's held a fucking sword before."

Sansa flushed angrily and snapped back, "You offered! And besides, I'm a fast enough learner. Just fucking show me." She was shocked by the curse word that flew out of her mouth. That was utterly unlady like! What was happening to her? But then, by the slightly impressed look in the Hound's eye (as small as it was), she knew she'd picked the right words. "Just… just show me," she repeated, holding out one of the knives. She was surprised at how carefully he took it out of her hands.

"Stand up," he ordered, "Show me how you hold it." She did as he said. She flushed as soon as he started laughing. "It's not a fucking butter knife. Like this." She studied his hand closely, carefully adjusting her grip, so the blade was away from her to the side and her hand wrapped around the hilt tightly. He had her work on her stance and her grip and even showed her the best places to jab at someone. They worked on the exercises for some time, until her arm muscles started to burn. By the time they stopped, she realized the sun was starting to set.

"Are we going to go any further today?" Sansa asked, reluctantly straightening up.

"Going through the night again," he grumbled, throwing the dagger he held at her feet. She kept herself mostly still, only flinching slightly. When he noticed the look on her face, he added, "You'll ride on Stranger again tonight, so you don't fall."

They moved all the packs over to Malia and once more, the Hound helped Sansa up into the saddle. This time, Sansa had the book in hand and read that for some time. It was only once the words started to blur together and it was getting too dark to see the words that Sansa put the book back in the pack.

The night was getting kind of chilly, even with the cloak on she had, and decided now was the best time to use the Hound's cloak. She wrapped it around herself from the front and started adjusting into the saddle until she was mostly leaning against Sandor. "Thank you, for this," she murmured softly, her eyes already closing.

She was already falling asleep by the time Sandor replied.

**~A/N~**

**So I was working on this chapter for weeks. Unfortunately, finals were right upon us in college and I just didn't have the same time as I normally did. And this was a difficult chapter to write. Hopefully, you all enjoyed the chapter! The next one is already on it's way to being written.**

**R&amp;R**

**XmX**


	5. Chapter Five: The Hidden Village

**Chapter Five: The Hidden Village**

She was startled awake and was more surprised when she realized it was still pitch dark. The Hound had tried to not wake her up while he scooped her out of Stranger's saddle, but the slightest movement startled her awake. The smell of wine was strong, really strong on Sandor and she could already tell he was swaying slightly. Out of instinct, she clung to him, afraid he might drop her. "You're supposed to be asleep, Little Bird," he rasped quietly.

"Sorry, you just startled me," she murmured, but she didn't let go of his shoulders until she could feel the ground under her feet. She shivered suddenly and wrapped the heavy white cloak closer to herself. It was chillier than usual. "Why did you stop for the night?"

He just grunted in response, grabbing and tossing random things in the dark. Sansa figured he didn't want to admit how drunk he was. "This should be enough cover for the night," he grunted, grabbing the sleeping roll off of Malia. She noticed there was only one and wondered if he planned to use it.

"Are we going to do a fire?" she asked, crouching down and settling out on her darker cloak. There wasn't a point in making the Hound's cloak dirty and any dirt was much less noticeable on the dark one.

"No," he said shortly.

"But, it's freezing-" she started to protest.

"Fuck, stop with the complaining. You'll live. Fire's too noticeable this dark at night." Sansa wanted to argue, but pressed her lips together and kept quiet. There was no point arguing with him when he was this drunk. So, she huddled closer to the cloaks and tried to warm herself up.

Eventually, the Hound went back over to Malia and reached into one of the bags. Sansa was startled when he shoved part of a loaf of bread into her hand. "Eat, then lay down on the bedroll," he ordered. She watched him quietly as he stumbled back over to the tree that her bed was at and settled against the trunk. She ate the bread quickly, trying to ignore the fact her stomach growled for more as soon as she was done. Ignoring the urge to sigh, Sansa went over towards the Hound, trying to see for any obstacles in front of her. It was actually quite difficult to see. The sky was really cloudy and covered up what light the moon had to offer.

She found the bedroll, and tried getting situated as comfortable as possible on the ground. It could have been worse, but it was absolutely freezing. It was like a blanket settling over her, even with both cloaks wrapped around her. The boots didn't seem to help keep the cold out of her feet and she didn't dare try tucking her feet closer under the cloaks. That would just make everything muddy and more uncomfortable.

She shifted around on the mat for some time, attempting to shake the feeling of cold. She rolled over onto her sides and then her back, trying to find a comfortable position, and tucking her arm under her head as some sort of pillow. Nothing seemed to help bring the sleep and eventually she gave up, just sprawling herself out under the cloaks with a huff. "What the hell is wrong now, Little Bird?" she heard the Hound mutter. Was he still awake?

Eventually, she told him quietly, "I just can't get to sleep."

"Too fucking cold for you?" Sansa didn't answer, not wanting to admit that it was the cold and the uncomfortable ground. "Fucking hell, girl. You're more trouble than you should be."

Sansa didn't reply, just rolled over on her side and turning her back to the Hound. She was so mad at him at this moment. All she wanted to do was hit him again and again until… She froze when she heard the Hound moving. He was right behind her. And then he was settling down on the ground beside her. Actually laying down. "What are you doing?" she asked, panicking. Was he really going to lay with her?

"You're fucking cold. We're not starting a fire. Just quit struggling," he growled. He had to be really, really drunk. There was no way he would lay down beside her sober. The smell of wine was all around her now, she could almost taste it when she breathed. She hadn't realized he'd taken his armor off at some point either. With his arm around her, this felt like…

It should have felt wrong. But feeling the heat radiating off of him and the fact it felt like she finally had someone beside her to protect her, Sansa found this felt right. She felt calm. The air was still chilly, but now there was wonderful heat around her. Sansa got the white cloak and threw it around both of them. Then she slowly snuggled down until she was comfortable in the Hound's arms. She rested her head against his upper arm and closed her eyes. She could feel him breathing behind her, his heart beating rapidly against her back. It was soothing. And when his breath started slowing and his heart beat dropping, she dozed off into sleep.

She was still restless for part of the night. She woke constantly by the sounds of the animals or the howl of the wolf. The noises the animals made didn't scare her. It was when she first didn't know what the noise was that scared her. What happened if it was someone to grab her? She had no idea how deep in sleep the Hound was.

When she fell deep enough in sleep to dream, she dreamt of the men who almost raped her. It felt like she was being crushed under the weight of the men, the stench of how they smelt was suffocating, and all she could feel was pain. She couldn't escape and there was no one there to save her.

This time, she woke up gasping and thrashing. In just that moment she forgot where she was and what was happening, only that there were arms around her and she just wanted to get away. But they were too strong and she sobbed. "Little Bird, it's all right."

It was his voice, the rasp and deepness of it, that grounded her, reminded her that she was out in the forest with the Hound and it was in the middle of the night. Still, crying slightly, she twisted around and curled herself up against him. She mumbled, "I'm sorry," as she closed her eyes and rested her head against his chest. He didn't say anything, but she could tell he was still awake. She could almost feel him looking at her, asking her to say what it was she was keeping quiet.

She refused to answer that unasked question and squeezed her eyes shut against the dark. She couldn't sleep the rest of that night, but she stayed close to the Hound. He was the only one she had left at this moment, the only protection from the rest of the world. She used that knowledge and drew strength from the fact she was safe as long as he was close by.

When the sun tried rising above the cloudy sky, Sansa slipped from the Hound's grasp. She was chilled, but not as cold as she could have been. She went and relieved herself. Then made the task of a fire. There was no excuses to not have one now. Once she found enough wood that wasn't too damp, she used the flint she found in one of Sandor's bags to light the fire (hopefully he didn't mind her going through it). She fed the small flames until there was a decent fire. Then she got some of the cold chicken out of the food packs and put them on some spits. The chicken wouldn't be good after today, so they might as well should eat it now before it spoiled.

The smell of food must have roused Sandor. Growling over the hangover, he stumbled off into the trees. Sansa got some water ready and a little bit of the bread to go with breakfast. She hoped they could find berries or something along the little stream later in the day. It would be nice to eat something other than stale bread.

After a few minutes, with his armor was back on, Sandor stumbled over to the fire where Sansa had just about everything ready. While he sat down, she said, "The chicken should be warm soon enough. I thought we should probably eat it before it spoiled."

"That's fine," he grunted, grabbing one of the flagons of water and chugging a good portion of it. She offered him a chunk of bread, which he took and started in to right away. Sansa ate her bread more slowly, carefully watching his reaction. After a moment, the Hound looked up and glared at her. "What's fucking wrong?" he snapped.

"Oh, n-nothing," she stammered, ducking her head and turning to the chicken again. Maybe he'd been too drunk to remember. She really hoped so because last night was extremely embarrassing.

After they were done eating, it was time to start heading out again. When Sansa noticed the Hound started evening out the bags between Stranger and Malia, she blurted out suddenly, "Can I just ride with you?" At the expression on his face, she quickly explained, "I really want to read the books Willy gave me… And this will keep me from talking so much."

Grumbling, the Hound reluctantly agreed to let her ride. She made sure to get the white cloak put back in her satchel and helped roll up the bedroll. By the time Malia was loaded, the sun was decently high in the sky. It really was a hassle to stop and camp for the night. Sansa felt unusually uncomfortable. They had no idea how the people after them could be riding. For all she knew, the enemy could have been riding straight through since the Queen discovered her missing. It was absolutely unnerving not knowing what was happening.

The Hound seemed to have the same feeling. As soon as he had Malia tied to Stranger and Sansa and him up in the saddle, he started running the horses. Sansa was grateful for the extra distance, but she was sad that she couldn't read at all. It made her boredom set in all over again. She was stuck settling for watching scenery and her own thoughts.

Eventually, she even attempted to pet Stranger's neck. Obviously, the black horse greatly disliked this and snapped at her. She pulled her hand back, barely keeping her fingers. "I told you to stay away from the damn horse," Sandor growled. She tried ignoring his comment, settling back in the saddle and attempting to adjust herself so she wasn't so sore. It was getting worse each day. She prayed that she'd grow used to riding sooner than later. Sansa sighed and leaned back against the Hound to try to relieve some of the discomfort.

She felt him stiffen up instantly and wondered if it was because he was uncomfortable with her this close or so she didn't knock off his balance. She doubted that she could unbalance him at all, so that left him not wanting her to touch him. Which was just childish.

Lost in thought, Sansa rode through the morning in silence. They stopped very little through that time, only when one of them needed to relieve themselves or if Sansa really needed to stretch. It did happen a couple times. Her legs just burned too bad to keep riding. The pain definitely didn't go away because of the hard riding. Sandor didn't slow down the pace until it was time to eat lunch. Even then, they ate some bread and an apple on the horse. Sansa didn't complain about not stopping. She tried to keep her complaints to a minimum, but, in the afternoon, she did talk some. The Hound didn't seem to mind too much, although she suspected it was all the wine he was drinking. How much wine could possibly be left?

That question was answered about midafternoon when the Hound threw the last empty flask into the river with a curse. She wondered if that meant he would want to stop at a tavern to get some more. Then again, he did say that they would be stopping only when they were out of food and drink and there was still several days of dried meat and bread to eat. So she doubted they'd stop any time soon.

She trained with the daggers while the Hound cursed about the lack of wine. She still wasn't fond of the idea of women carrying around swords and daggers and the like, but at the same time, she found it was a relief to have something to protect herself with. If she had to protect herself, she might as well try her hardest. If she could be great at being a lady, surely she could start mastering the skills of daggers. Besides, it wasn't the worst thing to learn about. She hoped to be able to practice some sparring with the Hound in the future.

The rest of the evening was relatively uneventful. Once the Hound was done cursing, he snapped for Sansa to get back onto Stranger. She tucked the daggers into her riding boots and let Sandor set her in Stranger's saddle. By then, the pace was slow enough for Sansa to read about the Children of the Forest. She had no idea how interesting the history before the First Men could be.

When night came around, the Hound pulled Stranger to a stop. He even started a fire. Sansa got the bedroll ready this time, close enough to the fire where she could feel the heat enough not to be freezing. She doubted the fire would run for the entire night, but she planned to soak up as much heat as she could in that time.

Sleep didn't come easy. Sansa tossed and turned for a good portion of the night. The Hound has long since passed out and he was as far from the fire as he could be. Sansa fed the fire while she was awake and eventually stood up and started working with the daggers again. She used a small trunk to aim her hits with the dagger. She practiced the motions, building up her arm strength until she left good dents into the tree. Her muscles throbbed and she was sweaty, but Sansa was feeling better. And tired. When she went back to her bedroll, she lay down and fell asleep right away.

Days started passing the same over and over. They'd wake up, ride through lunch and stopped when it was getting too dark. There were few stops, the horses got run almost every other day, and their food started running low. At night, the schedule was also the same. Sometimes, there was a fire to curl up next to. Other nights, the Hound was adamant against one. On all the nights, Sansa worked with the dagger until she was exhausted. When there wasn't a fire, Sansa would curl up next to the Hound for warmth. Unfortunately, nightmares were a common occurrence at night.

After nearly a week, the Hound grudgingly admitted that they would need to go into town. They were down to the last heel of bread and it was obvious he was dying for some wine. And Sansa would really enjoy having the chance to see civilization again. "Do you think we'll be stopping at an Inn tonight?" she asked him as she climbed up onto Malia. Thankfully, this was a day they weren't riding too hard.

"Doubt it. That hair of yours catches unwanted attention. I don't care how you change it, you look like you fucking belong at King's Landing," he grunted, climbing up onto Stranger. "Should have colored it when we stopped at the first Inn."

Sansa fingered one of her locks and reluctantly said, "We could get dye today. I won't mind coloring my hair." Honestly, she hated the idea of losing her auburn locks. But at this point, it was probably smarter. She wouldn't be able to keep her hood up all the time and if by some chance her hood was blown off, anyone could see the color.

"I'll see what I can do," he grunted, leading Stranger off the nonexistent trail they'd been on and off of all week. It really was interesting how the Hound could seem to make his own trail and still lead them in a perfectly reasonable direction.

Sansa followed after them, pulling her hood up around her head. She tried keeping all of her hair tucked up underneath the hood and her head down. Whenever they had come back on towards the main road, it only took minutes to get there. She wondered just how far into the forest they really were at times. And was it far enough? So far, they hadn't encountered anyone else, but sometimes Sansa wondered if it was just a matter of time. Surely there were other people wondering around the forest during war. This was a much safer place to be than the other roads.

As expected, the Kingsroad was just a few minutes out. Sansa was curious when the Hound started leading her back into the trees across the way and reluctantly asked, "Where are you going?"

"There's a village just down this way," he rasped, barely glancing around where he's going.

Suspiciously, she asked, "How is it you know these forests so well?"

"Does it fucking matter?" he snapped, turning his head to glower at her. "Be fucking happy there's food around and I can lead us back to your precious family."

"It's just curious you know so much about these forests and I imagine you didn't get out of the palace much, being Joffrey's… knight and all."

"I wasn't ever a fucking knight. It's called being a dog." Sansa was starting to find it funny he felt the need to correct her every time she called him a knight. "Gonna have to work on your damn language now too."

"Why is that?" she asked, instantly feeling defensive. "This is the proper way to speak-"

"For a fucking highborn. If you want to blend in at all, you'll fucking learn how to speak like any other normal lowborn."

Sansa tensed and said, "I'm not going to start cussing and saying all sorts of rude things."

"Either that or you're going to get grabbed and taken back to the Queen. Ever wonder what she and the little fucking King will do to you? There's no dog to protect you there either."

She glared at the Hound's back, but wasn't able to reply. He'd stopped and was looking down into a valley. Sansa made her way towards the edge and looked down. There was a beautiful little village nestled into the trees. Everything seemed to blend in with the nature surrounding the village. "I've never even heard of this place before," Sansa said, looking over towards Sandor.

"Been here for years. They don't bother getting involved with the realm," he grunted. "Should be able to help us."

"Then why does it matter if we stop at an Inn for the night?" she questioned, pressing her horse forward.

"There's still likely to be snitches. Don't need any attention being brought to them."

"You know these people, don't you?" She really didn't need to ask if he did or not. It was obvious he did and didn't want the attention of Joffrey near them.

She wasn't surprised he avoided the question with, "Should be able to get plenty of provisions for the right price. You'll handle the food, I'll get the wine."

_We really shouldn't waste the money on it, _she thought, but decided not to comment. Instead she asked, "We should be able to get dye right?"

"Probably." He seemed ready to drop the conversation there, leading Stranger down a small trail circling around the edge of the village. The black horse seemed to know the road well.

"So, is this someplace you come often?" Sansa pressed. Honestly, she didn't know anything about the Hound. Shouldn't she learn even a little bit?

"You ask another question, I'll send you back up the slope." It was a pretty hollow threat, but Sansa decided not to press her luck. At least he wasn't threatening to send her back to King's Landing. So she huddled up under her cloak and started making a small list in her head of what would survive longest in their packs.

Thankfully, the trip down didn't take more than a couple minutes. There were two guards posted at the end of the trail, both an older man and a younger one. She noticed neither one of them seemed shocked by the Hound's appearance. In fact, one of them had a large grin on his face and greeted the Hound with, "Well, well look who's back so soon?"

"Thamos," the Hound grunted, glancing at Sansa. She understood the look instantly as 'keep quiet'. She tucked her head down, hoping to keep any attention off of her.

Unfortunately, that never seemed to be the case. "And who's this lady with ya?" the man, Thamos, asked, ignoring the Hound's rough voice. The second man hadn't spoken, but his attention was drawn to Sansa now.

Reluctantly, Sansa glanced up to the Hound. It was then it dawned on her. This was what he was talking about, learning how to speak like a 'lowborn'. He hadn't been trying to irritate her… he'd been trying to warn her and protect her from those who would want to send her back. A smile almost spread on her face. Instead, she thought of the most infuriating thought possible (Arya trying to cut off all her hair back at Winterfell) and said sharply, "Name's Nyma. Why you ask?" She kept her words short, she didn't offer a hand or a bow of her head. In fact, she looked him straight in the eye with a slight glare. She was surprised at how easy it was to switch character.

"Well, she's no friendly companion." The second man had finally spoken and was curiously studying Sansa. That made her uncomfortable and she shifted in the saddle.

The Hound tried bringing the attention back to himself by saying, "Just need some supplies today."

"Where you heading then?" Thamos asked, glancing at the second man with a glare.

"Just North. Perhaps to the Free Cities at some point," the Hound shrugged.

"No way she's going with ya. Far too pretty to be wondering around like this. So what you doing, Nyma?" It was the second man again. Sansa glared at the man, frustrated. He was really beginning to get on her nerves.

She snapped, "I know where my boot's gonna be real fast." A flush started creeping up in her cheeks, but she ignored it and said with a jerk of her head, "No damn business of yours, but I'm going with my companion to the Free Cities."

"Shut your mouth, Kaine," Thamos said, also looking frustrated with the man. Thamos turned back to Sansa and bowed his head slightly. "I apologize for the Kaine's manner."

Sansa glared at Kaine and said, "Much rather he be apologizing… But thank you anyway."

Thamos nodded, glaring at the younger man once again. "Ya be staying the night?"

"Doubt it," Sandor grunted, shifting Stranger.

"Both ya'll look in rough shape. Should stay the night, let us feed you."

Sansa noticed the expression on the Hound's face and quickly said, "No, we going to be moving on within the hour."

Thamos started laughing. "That's if we let ya." Sansa wasn't sure if that was a true threat. But considering the Hound's demeanor didn't change much, she assumed she was just being paranoid.

"Just let us pass and get some food," he grunted, glaring between both men.

"Oh, of course," Thamos said, but Sansa noted a bit of sarcasm in his voice and the bow he gave the Hound afterwards. She was a little amazed at how comfortable this Thamos character was speaking to Sandor. Most knights or any lowborn could hardly look him in the face. He had to know these people more than just barely.

When they were far enough away, the Hound cursed, quite loudly. "What is it?" she asked softly, glancing at him.

"We're fucking stuck here tonight," he growled, glaring over his shoulder.

Sansa couldn't help, but smile widely. The day wasn't going to be so bad after all.

**~A/N~**

**So here's another chapter! I had planned this chapter going a little different, but then the little village came to mind and I just really enjoyed the thought of them spending the day there. Hopefully this is entertaining enough for all the readers. Thank you for all the reviews!**

**R&amp;R**

**XmX**


	6. Chapter Six: Lessons

**Chapter Six: Lessons**

As soon as they were out of ear shot, the Hound was cursing. Sansa figured she knew what it was about, but she decided to ask anyway, "Are we going to end up being here all night?"

"Fucking hell, these people are annoying," he muttered, glaring at Sansa. She gave him the look 'what did I do?' He snorted and turned away from the Stark girl. They were just outside the small village, traveling the dirt road towards the line of trees.

After a moment of tense silence, Sansa asked, "If we're staying, that means I'll be coloring my hair right?"

"What the fuck do you think?" he snapped. "You'd be staying inside the goddamn cabin all night otherwise."

"There's no need to be so rude," Sansa retorted. "I was going to continue by asking where the hell I'm supposed to go for the hair color." It was thrilling and addictive, not having to watch what she was saying at this moment. Nothing had felt so free since her young days at Winterfell.

"I know a place," he grunted. "Follow me." He took the lead, barely looking at the Stark girl. She led Malia after the Hound, keeping a safe distance away from Stranger. While the black horse hated people, he seemed to take a personal dislike towards Malia. If she came within a few feet of any side, he either bit or kicked at her.

Sandor kept them toward the edge of town for several minutes, keeping Sansa carefully out of sight. When he finally started leading her into town, it was nearly to the edge of town and almost abandoned. There were three houses in total within that section. Sandor went straight towards the house on the further right. It was small log cottage with two windows. Instantly, an older looking woman popped her head out of one window and looked at them. "Well, well, well, if it isn't the Hound," she said, her voice deep and gravelly. "What you doin' back 'ere?"

"Making a trip to the Free Cities," he grunted, dismounting from Stranger and leading the horse to an area to tie him to. "Need a favor."

"For the gal, I'm guessin'?" she said, nodding towards Sansa. Sansa dismounted from Malia, deciding not to address the woman, and walked Malia toward the same area. Just several, several feet away from the angry black horse.

"Need to color her hair," the Hound said, focusing on tying up Stranger.

"Got money to pay for it?" she said, now focused on Sansa.

Sandor grunted in return, walking towards the window. "You going to do it or no?"

After a moment, the woman sighed and said, "Come in." She disappeared from the window. Sansa stepped up beside the Hound, glancing at him.

"Horse tied up good?" he said, not even looking at her.

"I'm not incompetent," she replied. "Who is she?"

"Done me enough favors that I know she'll keep quiet. Quit with the fucking questions." He stepped up to the house with Sansa in tow. Inside was rather bland and scarce, with little furniture and less light. She did have a little fire in the front room to help with the lighting and probably for heat once winter came.

After a few minutes, the woman returned to the front room, bottles in hand. She was a rather plump woman, wrinkled and with graying hair. It was then Sansa noticed her one eye, which was grayed over and unfocused. "Take off the cloak," the lady ordered, setting the bottles down and shoving a stool near the fire. "Sit." Glancing at the Hound for confirmation, Sansa reluctantly slipped the cloak off of her shoulders, carefully folded it up, and sat down on the stool.

"Thank you for doing this," Sansa told the woman while she was turned away.

"It don't matter none," the woman muttered. She turned around and started towards Sansa. "Ya got lovel' hair color. Why ya gonna color it?" Sansa shrugged, figuring it was better to keep quiet. "You runnin', aren't ya?" Sansa tensed, barely glancing at the Hound. The woman started laughing, uncorking a bottle and picking up locks of Sansa's hair. "Don't matter none to me what you doin'. Just don't bring no trouble to this village."

"I won't," Sansa promised quietly. The woman didn't say much else, just hummed softly and continued to pick up locks of Sansa's hair. Sansa sat there without a fuss through the entire promise, even when the woman tugged painfully on a lock. Eventually, the woman barked at the Hound to grab the bucket of water from the kitchen and told Sansa to dunk her head into the water. The strange woman shoved Sansa's cloak into the Hound's arms once he brought in the bucket. Once the bucket was in front of her, Sansa didn't hesitate to put all of her hair and part of her head in the water. She felt the woman scrubbing at her scalp roughly and bit her lip at the stinging pain. Eventually, she was able to lift her head. The woman had a damp cloth in her hand and wiped at Sansa's forehead, where she assumed part of the color had dribbled to.

Eventually, the woman nodded and said, "Look's good 'nough. Wait to travel in town until hair's dry." Then she wandered out of the room with her bottles. The Hound tossed Sansa her cloak and started out of the little cottage. Sansa followed behind, tying the cloak again. They started untying the horses in silence.

Thankfully, Sansa's hair didn't seem to take too long to dry. Within the hour, they were able to travel towards the middle of town. There was a lot more people mulling about and working. Children were scurrying underfoot, people were manning lots of concession stands. Several people greeted the Hound and even stopped him several times to talk. Most of the time, he was just as cold to them as anyone else. Still, they all seemed used to this behavior and even ignored his rude comments altogether. Eventually, Sansa decided to go exploring on her own. She got some gold from the Hound for food and then slipped away unnoticed when another man stopped Sandor to talk.

It didn't take Sansa long to find a lot of delicious food to take with on their journey. There was lots of fruit and vegetables available. She noticed they had a system right away. Instead of money, the sellers preferred trading one item for another. When she did pay with money, they didn't decline her. Instead, there was always a messenger, who ran with the money to trade with a fellow that often went into town. When Sansa inquired about it, she was informed that there was always product brought back to them for the money. Then trading began all over again. Their civilization was intriguing all on its own. Honestly, it was nice to see people able to function without worrying about money all the time. They preferred to work together over fighting over what little bit of gold they could get. Sansa could definitely get used to being in a place like this.

Many people started showing interest in Sansa as well. They started talking to her, asking questions about where she was from and, after she answered that she'd left with the Hound, they asked how she knew him. She tried avoiding the questions as much as possible and kept any of her answers as vague as possible. Eventually, she had enough food for quite some time during their trip, including some dried meat, fresh fruit and vegetables, nuts, and even some hard cheese that tasted decently good. After an afterthought, she picked up a few loaves of bread and a new satchel for the extra food. Overall it didn't cost her too much. She even traded some of the cobs of corn for the bread, just to try out the system.

Near the edge of the little market, Sansa noticed a stand selling books. Immediately, she went over to look at the books. Some of them she recognized from her childhood, others she had no idea where they could have been from. She picked up several interesting-looking titles, and discovered one of the books held documented details of the battle with the Mad King. Eventually, she paid for four different interesting titles, included the book about the Mad King. It had some details of her father that she had never known about. She wanted to know now.

After about another half an hour of wandering, Sansa finally ran into the Hound. He was busy talking with Thamos, although it seemed more like an argument than anything. She managed to catch a bit of the argument when she walked up. It was about leaving the village. Thamos was obviously against it. He was saying, "And the poor gal looks exhausted. Rest the night, head out in the mornin'. We won't try to stop ya all none soon as the sun's up."

The Hound looked ready to argue some more, but then noticed Sansa just a mere few feet away. He grunted, then snapped, "Fine, but don't expect any manners from neither of us."

Thamos was grinning widely and said, "We'll give ya the same cabin from 'fore." Then he turned to Sansa and nodded his approval, "Got yourself a pretty one here, Sandor. Take care her." He bowed his head to Sansa and then drifted off into the crowd. The Hound looked ready to split something in half, but just growled and ordered Sansa, "Follow me." She wanted to huff in return, but instead kept herself quiet and kept close to Sandor. He knew his way through the village easily and led them to a row of cabins that was for guests. Theirs ending up being at the far end. Sandor tied up both the horses while Sansa traveled inside. The inside was furnished with a medium sized bed, a small fire area, and small washbin. A looking glass was above the washbin. There wasn't enough room to get a bathing tub in there and barely enough room for the two of them to really have much personal space.

Curiously, Sansa went over to the looking glass to see how her hair turned out. She was very surprised by how the color had turned out. Her hair was closer to a dark auburn with a lighter auburn shine to her locks. Her skin was paler with such a darker color and helped bring out her light freckles a little more, but overall, she thought she looked rather pretty. Besides having so much dirt all over her face.

She turned towards the door when it creaked open. The Hound ambled in with a frustrated look on his face. He didn't even really look at her as he went over and deposited their packs on the ground in the only clear area of the room. After a moment of tense silence, Sansa reluctantly offered, "I got quite a bit of food and some fresh water for tomorrow. I wasn't sure just how much you wanted, so I stuck to whatever I didn't think would go bad before we had a chance to finish it."

He grunted in return and asked, "What about the wine?"

She flinched slightly. She had forgotten to get any. "I didn't get any. I'd forgotten…" He didn't respond, much to her surprise. She figured there'd probably be a little yelling at least. "… So, where is it that we can bath and clean the clothes? I figured all of our stuff could use a good wash, yours especially since you only had one spare change of clothes."

"Thamos' already sending someone over to help. Sure they'll lead you over to the stream."

"Oh." She had no idea what to say next. After a moment of tense silence, she went over to her pack and started pulling out the used clothes. She'd switched back and forth between the dark green and blue riding dresses. She hadn't wanted to wear the violet one while they were out traveling like that. She could wear it today around this little village, so she could wash the other dresses. She tried tucking the books all into her satchel, but it was going to be a tight fit without the clothes or the white cloak inside.

With a slight sigh, she set everything on the ground and started unpacking the books. She might have to get another satchel to put these in. Before she could start contemplating, there was a knock on the door. She turned, just as the door started opening. A young blond girl, no older than Sansa, popped in and asked, "Nyma?"

Sansa nodded and asked, "What ya want?" She tried to keep her slightly rude tone.

"Thamos wanted me to lead ya to our bathin' area. Figured ya'd wanna clean up and wash the clothes." The girl didn't seem to mind the rude tone and even grinned at Sansa. "Come." She disappeared from the cabin.

Sansa turned to the Hound, expecting him to say something, but he just stood up and tossed some clothes at Sansa. She caught them easily enough and reluctantly said, "I'll come back for your other pair of clothes once everything is washed."

"Just go clean up, Little Bird," he grunted, standing up. She figured he was going after more wine, so she walked over to the door and walked out with him. The girl was waiting beside the cabin and walked over to Sansa.

"What your name?" Sansa asked, reluctantly tucking all the clothes to one arm and staring at the girl. It felt strange to act so informal, but by the way the girl's mouth quirked into a grin told Sansa this was exactly what she needed to do.

"Catriona," she said. "Everyone calls me Cat. Great to meet a livel' gal." Catriona started past the buildings. Sansa hurried to catch up, shifting the pile of clothes in her arms. "So, why ya with the Hound?"

Sansa shrugged. "He was leaving King's Landing. I wanted to leave. Decent partnership."

Catriona started laughing. "No one just goes with the Hound. Ya have a reason."

"No business of yours," Sansa retorted, glancing at the girl. She had a look of amusement on her face.

Before either could say another word, Sansa could hear the sound of a river. A moment later, the river was in sight. It was a beautifully clear river rushing just enough that there was a minor current. Catriona told her, "Place perfect for bathin' and washin' ya dresses."

Sansa wasn't sure what to say, eventually she just nodded and set aside the pile of dirty clothing. For a moment, she hesitated to strip out of her clothing, but when it was obvious Catriona wasn't going anywhere, she just started slipping off her clothes. At this point, it really didn't matter. It was just another girl Sansa would know for a day.

She stripped down of all her clothes and carefully kept her daggers tucked into her boots. Once she was utterly bare, Sansa waddled into the river. It was freezing! She waited until her legs weren't utterly numb and she started further in. Eventually, she was easily up to her waist without even being in the middle of the river. She was shivering and colder than she could remember in some time. Yet, she felt like she was getting clean just standing in the water. So, she counted to three, closed her eyes, and threw herself into the water. It was the only way she was going to get herself fully emerged without taking hours.

Eventually, she got semi-used to the chilly water and scrubbed herself until she felt all the dirt coming off of her skin and her hair felt cleaner than it had since leaving King's Landing. While swimming around in the stream, she noticed Catriona had rolled up her pants legs, picked up the pile of clothing and wadded into the shallow edge. When Catriona noticed Sansa looking at her, she waved and called, "Just washin' clothes to save time!"

Sansa waved back in return and ducked under the water again. She knew she'd have to get out eventually, but it was nice to enjoy such a clean stream. It was almost like swimming back at Winterfell, just much chillier. And more lonely. At least she'd had others to enjoy the swim…

Shortly after those thoughts, Sansa made her way back to shore. By then, Catriona had the clothes washed and hung for drying and sat with her feet in the stream. When Sansa started climbing out of the stream, Catriona threw her a drying cloth. Gratefully, she dried off all the cool water and went over to the pile of clothes beside her boots. Catriona was silent while Sansa dressed, but when she'd slipped the violet dress over her head, the girl spoke, "I noticed the daggers in ya boots."

Sansa tensed, glancing over her shoulder, and asked, "What of it?"

"You know how to use 'em?"

Sansa turned and stared at the blond girl. Catriona stared back, grinning like she knew something. Sansa's eyes narrowed, but decided to answer, "I've been learning since I left King's Landing. I haven't had anyone to train with besides myself. The H- Uh, Clegane has been helping me with practicing a bit." Sansa thought it would be better to call Sandor something other than The Hound. That felt rude and disrespectful and too much like Joffrey.

"I'll help you train! With more than just stupid daggers." She seemed much more eager to be around Sansa suddenly. "We'll work on it all day until dinner. I'm sure my brother would help too if I asked." She jumped up eagerly, like she didn't care at all that Sansa was a stranger. After a moment, Sansa shrugged, quickly pulled on her boots, and grabbed all of the wet clothes.

Catriona showed her the line to hang up the clothes behind the cabins. Then she tugged Sansa away for the guest homes and started leading her randomly into town. "Brother should be off of 'is shift by now."

"Who is he?" Sansa asked, carefully studying her surroundings. She didn't want to be completely lost in this town.

"You would have met 'im alread'. He was at the entrance."

"Please tell me it's Thamos," Sansa said, with a sinking feeling.

"Nah," Catriona said, a curious look on her face. "Kaine."

Before Sansa could open her mouth, she heard a familiar voice yell, "Catriona! Where are ya?" Within seconds, she spotted the annoying man from before. He stopped short as soon as he saw Sansa, but then he smirked and walked over. "Well, well, well if it isn't Snippy." He stopped in front of her, folding his arms. Sansa stared at him, eyes narrowed.

Catriona could feel the tension almost immediately and broke the silence by saying, "Ya gonna help teach her how to use a sword."

"The hell I will!" he snapped, turning to glare at the blond.

"She a guest. Besides, ya owe her for bein' such a cunt at the entrance." When she noticed the surprised look on Kaine's face, Catriona continued, "Thamos told me. I not stupid. Go grab the trainin' sword and meet us at the spot. Otherwise, e'll hear about it." With that, Catriona took Sansa's hand and tugged her away from Kaine. Sansa was shocked by their little argument and the fact Catriona got away talking so rudely to her brother. For several minutes, she was silent, trying to work over the argument in her head.

Before she could comprehend what was going on, Catriona had stopped and turned to her. "I want to see how ya handle a blade."

"Oh, uh…" Sansa fumbled to pull the daggers out of each boot. She handed the blade over, hilt first, to Catriona, who took it and examined the blade.

After a moment, the girl nodded. "Not too bad. What 'ave ya learned so far?" Sansa took her through each of the drills that the Hound had taught her, careful not to actually harm her. Catriona didn't seem to be all that skilled at using a dagger much. Sansa was pretty sure she'd actually be able to disarm Catriona if she wanted. At least, that's what she thought, until the blonde suddenly turned the blade and went at Sansa.

While the Stark girl was startled, she didn't hesitate to block the move and step aside as carefully as she possibly could. They began sparring, Catriona coming at Sansa with quite a bit of force. She blocked each blow, unsure how to do anything aside from defending herself. Before she could think, Catriona came straight at her face. Pain exploded across her right cheek, enough to bring tears to her eyes. She gasped and quickly stepped away from the girl, bringing her hand to her face. Instantly, Catriona had backed off, staring at Sansa. She wasn't sure how to react. The cut stung and was bleeding heavily.

"I didn't mean to cut ya," Catriona said after a moment. She noticed Sansa wasn't altogether there, still touching her cheek and staring at the blood on her hand. "I thought…"

"I haven't really sparred with anyone yet," Sansa admitted quietly, still staring at the blood. She wondered what her face would look like now, if it would scar or… She shook her head. If she was thinking something so petty as her looks, Sansa was extremely disappointed in herself. She'd been through enough to know looks didn't matter now. "How bad is it?" she asked Catriona, reluctantly turning the cut to the girl.

She walked up and started wiping away the blood with her sleeve. Sansa flinched and tears suddenly filled her eyes. Catriona cursed under her breath and stepped away from Sansa. "I'm goin' get a needle…"

That meant it was deep enough to need stitches. Sansa nodded and said, "I'll come with." After a moment of searching, Sansa found what she was looking for; the fabric the Hound had given her. She'd kept it ever since Joffrey had made her stare at her father's head. Now she really did need the fabric. She pressed it against her cheek, flinching at the stinging sensation that spread across her cheek.

At that moment, Kaine stepped into the clearing, two swords in hand. He froze the moment he saw Sansa and cursed. "The hell ya do, Cat?!" he nearly yelled, dropping the swords and coming over to Sansa. She noticed the look on his face as soon as he stepped in front of her. Slowly, she removed the cloth, so he could get a look at the wound. He grabbed her by the chin, causing Sansa to flinch. He didn't say a word, just moved her head for a moment to get a better view of the cut in the light. He cursed. "Ya shoulda known not to push the gal. Obviousl' she wasn't raised out in the woods," he snapped at Catriona. "Go get the wine and needle." He let go of Sansa face and started towards the woods.

"Can you bring a looking glass too?" Sansa asked, wanting to see just how bad the damage was. Catriona looked ready to decline, but reluctantly nodded and took off, a guilty look on her face. Sansa pressed the cloth against her cheek again, ready for the pain this time. Her cheek had started to throb uncomfortably and she was beginning to feel just a bit light-headed. She slowly sat on the ground, carefully choosing a spot that didn't seem to be dirty. By then, Kaine had reappeared with a small bundle of wood in his arms. He dropped the pile near Sansa. She watched him get the pile organized and started a fire. "You'll be boiling the wine? And then pouring it on my cheek."

" 'Course we will. Don't need ya gettin' a infection," he said without looking at her. He paused and glanced at Sansa. "Ya gonna tell the Hound what happen?"

"Just that I slipped and cut myself," she told him, instantly catching onto his concern. They thought Sandor really cared about her and that he would hurt whoever harmed her. She doubted he'd concern himself with something as stupid as a cut cheek…

They were silent until Catriona came back, her arms full of two wineskins, a bowl and the looking glass. She had the needle and thread in hand. "They askin' questions as soon as I went for the needle," Catriona said.

"They know?" Kaine asked, eyes narrowed.

She shook her head. "I ran. Told 'em wasn't any of their business." She passed the bowl and one skin of wine to Kaine. Then she handed the other skin to Sansa. The Stark girl blinked at the gesture and asked, "What's this for?"

"This gonna hurt a lot, ya want this." She did notice the glance Kaine and Catriona shared and cursed herself quietly. Of course the wine was to dull the pain, she'd been around plenty of wounded people to know this. Still…

"I really shouldn't drink anything," Sansa said. She almost added, "It's not proper for a girl to", but quickly remembered that wasn't the right thing to say.

"Drink the damn wine," Kaine snapped at her. Sansa took the flask and hesitantly took a gulp. Almost instantly, she started to cough. Wincing slightly, she tried handing back the flask, but neither would have it. They forced her to drink the entire bottle, coughing and sputtering and wincing through the entire process. Half way through the bottle, the wine didn't taste too bad. By the end of the flask, Sansa was woozy and feeling strange. Catriona held Sansa's head at an odd angle, adjusting the position while Kaine positioned the bowl of wine. They shoved some cloth into her mouth for her to bite out.

She screamed as soon as the scalding liquid touched the wound. The cloth barely muffled the sound. The liquid mostly trickled down her cheek into the grass, but a bit trailed down her neck. Catriona made sure to dab everything up before it reached her dress. The pain in her cheek felt worse and throbbed more than she'd ever felt before. She almost didn't feel the pain when Kaine suddenly shoved a needle straight into her cheek. Almost. She winced away from the pain, whimpering slightly.

"Stay still," Kaine barked. Sansa felt Catriona grabbed her head again, this time holding her straight. Sansa took a deep breath and squeezed her eyes shut. She almost moved away as soon as she felt the second piercing of the needle but forced herself to stay still and let out a strangled whimper instead. Each puncture and thread through her cheek nearly brought tears to her eyes. She tried focusing on anything besides her current predicament.

By the time Kaine finished all eight stitches, Sansa felt like she was going to pass out. Her cheek throbbed painfully in parts and was utterly numb in other sections. She touched the stitches cautiously, feeling nauseas. "Are ya okay?" Catriona asked.

"I-I think so. I've never had stitches before," she mumbled, still feeling out of it. Faintly, she was aware that she shouldn't have been saying anything like that, but at this moment, she didn't care if anyone found out who she was.

"We should get ya back to the cabin," Catriona said, helping Sansa to her feet.

The ground in front of her spun for a moment, but slowly everything settled. She shook her head and replied, "I need to practice with the sword. Clegane can't be protecting me all the time." And she truly felt that. She was sick and tired of being this pathetic little bird that couldn't do anything. She had to be able to defend herself.

"I don't think-"

"I'm doing it," she insisted, pushing the girl away from her. She looked at Kaine, lifting her chin and challenging him to argue. The young man stared back at her, eyes narrowed. After a moment, he nodded.

"Fine. Grab the sword." She did so without hesitation, ignoring the lightheadedness she felt. Kaine watched her as she picked up both blades and took one she offered. Without hesitating, he went at Sansa.

#

#

By the time they were done training, Sansa was bruised and a little bloody. She'd scraped up her hands from falling and didn't dodge a few of the blades fast enough. She'd ended up with a slice on her arm, one that barely missed the edge of her dress, and another scratch on her cheek. Kaine had pulled away before any true damage was done. He'd cursed himself plenty both times. They cleaned up Sansa's arm wound and wiped off her cheek. Catriona kept a close eye on Sansa's stitches, afraid that the girl might accidently pull one out.

Sansa was surprised how easy it was to work with a sword. It was still uncomfortable to really wield one, but she felt with enough practice she could get used to it. Once she got used to holding the sword, learning the other techniques were pretty easy. If the Hound would take the time to work with her, Sansa was sure she could decently protect herself.

The Stark girl had mostly sobered up from the wine she'd drank. She was grateful for that, she didn't need Sandor knowing she'd drank any at all. The three of them headed back towards the middle of town for dinner, Sansa and Catriona quietly discussing what she would say to the Hound about the wound. "I'll come find you later tonight, promise," Catriona said before she ran off towards her parents. Then it was just Kaine and Sansa.

After a moment Kaine told her grudgingly, "Thanks for that Nyma. 'ppreciate it." Then he walked off too. A smile spread across Sansa's face as she watched the two walk off. It was so nice to meet these kind of people. Before she could think more, she spotted the Hound talking with Thamos. Sucking in a deep breath, she slowly made her way over there, mentally reciting what she was going to say if he noticed her cheek. If she was lucky, he wouldn't notice one bit.

When she walked up beside him, the Hound growled, "The hell you been, girl?" without evening looking at her.

She kept her head tucked down and told him, "Cat and Kaine helped me with the daggers and swords." The Hound looked down at her, but Sansa didn't dare raise her head other than turning it to the side to ask, "What's for food tonight?"

"What are you hiding?"

"Nothing," she replied, reluctantly turning her head to him. She noticed his eyes go straight to her cut and dirty form. He cursed suddenly and grabbed her chin, gentler than she expected.

"What the hell did Kaine do to you?" he spat, barely glancing up for the boy in question, his focus on the stitches. "Did a hack job here," he continued in a dark voice.

"He didn't do anything. I cut myself on accident, trying to flip the blade a bit," Sansa argued, hoping her story was convincing. She could see on his face he didn't believe her one bit. She could tell he had a more important question; what's her mother going to say about this? By that time, Sansa expected her cheek to be healed up good by then. The scar would hopefully not be noticeable.

"Don't lie to me, Little Bird," he snapped. "You never could. Don't matter you cut up that pretty face of yours or not, it's easy to read you." She faintly noticed that he had called her face pretty, but she was more focused on the fact he still hadn't let go of her chin. She stepped away from him, attempting to glare at the large man.

"I'm not lying. You just can't read me as well as you think," she retorted, putting her hands on her hips and raising her chin defiantly.

Before they could argue more, she heard Thamos laughing. She turned her attention to him, noticing the amused look on his face. "Don't worry 'bout him a bit, Nyma. Let's get ya both fed and to bed. Sure that Sandor here will want ya on the road early," he told Sansa, clapping the Hound on his back. Sandor stiffened noticeably, still focused on Sansa.

"Thank you, Thamos," Sansa said, giving Sandor one last look before following the man towards the line of people. She noticed the Hound reluctantly following after them, cursing under his breath. She ignored him clearly, watching the village folks instead. She figured since they had a system for trading their goods, they most likely had a system for this as well.

And she was more than right. Everyone picked a certain portion from each category of fruit, vegetable, meat, and grain. She noticed everyone got two of fruit, two of vegetable, a certain ounce of meat, and a quarter loaf of bread. Then they have a choice of drink, whether wine, water, or freshly squeezed juice. When it was her turn to pick up the food, she noticed that all the village folk were watching what she did. Carefully, she picked each of her choices, of fresh strawberries, a carrot, half cucumber, a piece of venison (she assumed), and the bread. After a moment, she picked up a glass of juice, even though she had no idea what it was. Thamos invited her over to enjoy the meal with him, Sandor, and the village leaders. She glanced at Sandor, but he didn't seem to mind the invitation. So she found herself surrounded by a group of people, carefully keeping close to the Hound. She kept quietly to herself, nibbling on her food while listening to their conversations. She couldn't remember the last time she'd been involved in such an innocent meal.

After a while, she could feel her cheek throbbing uncomfortably. Between chewing and occasionally talking when someone addressed her, her cheek was burning and she'd developed quite the headache. When she rubbed her temple slightly and her cheek as well, she was more shocked when Sandor shoved a flask at her. Meeting his eye, he rasped, "It'll help with the pain, Little Bird." For once his voice was low and almost gentle. With a small smile, she took the flask and took a gulp. The wine burned her throat and made her want to cough, but she stifled the urge and continued drinking. By the time she was half gone, her cheek felt much better and her headache had receded to a slight pain. The Hound tried to take the flask back, but he was shocked when she grabbed the flask and kept it close to her. "I-I wanna keep it," she managed out, surprised by how difficult it was to get her words out. She giggled and took another swig, barely gagging.

"Little bird, you've had more than enough," he told her, holding out his hand as if he expected her to give it back. Instead, she hummed, hugged the flask to herself, and leaned her head against his broad shoulder.

By now, it was dark and late into the night. Several villagers had already gone to bed, ready for the early rise that each day demanded. The Hound was staring at the dark haired girl in front of him, who stared at the fire with half-lidded eyes and a flush to her cheeks. She tried drinking more of the wine and nearly splashed herself in the mess. Sandor could assume that she had already had some wine to drink when she got the stitches and most likely a good portion of the wine had still been in her system. Between sitting down, the extra wine, and the pain, he could assume it was easy for her to get drunk again.

With a groan, he stood up and told the leaders, "Gonna take the lass to bed now. Thank you for the hospitality." It was difficult to be nice to the leaders, but after all they had done for him, before and after King's Landing, he felt it was necessary to be polite.

The group bid him goodnight. Thamos was nice enough to help Sansa to her feet, who was giggling and mumbling something about birds, long enough for Sandor to stand up. Then he crouched down enough to pick Sansa up over his shoulder. He felt her clutch onto his clothes almost instantly and she moaned softly. "You better not get sick on me, Little Bird," he warned, as he started towards the cabin. "I'm in no mood to clean up after ya. That was good food ya got too."

"Just stop swaying," she mumbled into his shoulder.

"Close your eyes then." She kept quiet the rest of the way to the cabin, her grip loosening the more he walked. He assumed that she'd passed out and had planned to just set her on the bed when they walked in. Instead, when he put her down, she opened her eyes and looked up at him.

A smile spread across her face and she told him quietly, "I did lie to you today. But it wasn't anyone's fault." She attempted to kick her boots off, but it was obvious how much of a struggle it was. Reluctantly, and slightly uncomfortably, he snapped at her, "Quit moving." When she did just that, he unlaced the boots and pulled them off. He grumbled under his breath, dying terribly to drink more wine. He hadn't planned on babysitting the damn Stark Girl tonight, definitely hadn't thought she would be dumb enough to get drunk. Then again, who would have thought she would take the time to try training with her damn daggers and a sword? The fact she got injured didn't shock him in the least; he'd just expected it to be much later.

When she struggled to pull the thin blanket over herself, the Hound helped her get underneath. He grabbed the flask and took a deep gulp, glad to be able to drown himself once more. When he stood to leave, he was startled when Sansa asked loudly, "Where are you going?"

He turned to the Little Bird staring at him with wide, concerned eyes and scoffed, "Letting you sleep, girl."

"Don't leave me alone. Stay," she stated, attempting to pat the bed with her hand underneath. She couldn't seem to free her hand from the sheets, which sent her into another fit of giggles. He stared at the girl for several moments, who looked back at him with a clueless look on her flushed face. He gave himself several decisions in those moments; one, she could end up getting seriously injured left alone, two she could wander out and get injured outdoors, three she could end up getting sick everywhere, four he was dying to go out and get drunk and spar with the men in the camp, and five, goddamn he'd made a promise to keep her safe. With a growl and a glare at the drunk girl, he reluctantly chugged the rest of his flask, grabbed a new one, and sat on the bed beside her. "Lay down," she mumbled, her eyes closing slightly. After taking several more gulps of wine, he reluctantly did as she said and settled himself out. Almost instantly, the girl attempted to cuddle up to him.

"Little Bird, I wouldn't do that," he said, pulling his arm away.

"Just for a little while," she told him. She managed her arm out and attempted to tug it to her, despite the fact he was obviously much stronger than she was. After several moments in which he stared at her and she continued her little tugging, she eventually stuck out her bottom lip and gave him her wide eyed look.

"You're a total pain in the ass," he snapped, letting the girl pull his arm to her. Happily, she snuggled up to him and closed her eyes.

Within moments, she was asleep. Whenever he attempted to move, the Hound drew out an unhappy grumble from the sleeping girl. So after a bit, he finished his wine and let it send him off into his dark place.

**~A/N~**

**So a lot of time I haven't updated. I'm really sorry about all that. I've been working full time and going to college full time during the summer and between those two, I hardly had time to write. Thankfully, I had three quarters of the chapter done, so I was able to wrap it up today. I'm not a fan of Sansa during the last little bit, she's a little OOC for me, but there wasn't much else I could think of for her. She needs to lose herself a little, she was majorly traumatized, so who wouldn't let lose and search for themselves again?**

**Thank you for all your patience!**

**R&amp;R**

**XmX**


	7. Chapter Seven: Fear

**Chapter Seven: Fear**

The first thing she felt in the morning was her tongue sticking to the roof of her mouth. The next instant, Sansa felt utterly sick to her stomach. When she tried sitting up, her head pounded in protest and her stomach lurched uncomfortably. She pushed herself out of the bed and stumbled over to the washbin in almost complete darkness. She heaved, her stomach cramping uncomfortably. A white hot pain shot through her cheek down her neck and faintly she swore she tasted blood in her mouth.

In the background she heard Sandor wake up, growling and stumbling over to her in the dark. A moment later, a candle was lit and he was crouching down beside her. Sansa waited, her stomach still rolling, and reluctantly fell down on her bottom. She touched her cheek automatically, feeling a little blood seeping through, but otherwise all her stitches were still in place. "Bloody hells girl, you shouldn't drink no wine," the Hound snapped, taking her chin to turn her stitches toward him and the candlelight.

She only let him look a moment before she pulled away and heaved into the washbin again. "Why am I so sick?" she moaned softly. Her mind was fuzzy and she couldn't recall most of what happened last night. She remembered vaguely being offered some wine for her cheek, but it was utterly blank after that.

"The wine, Little bird. You had too much for sure, you stupid girl," he snapped. He didn't sound as angry as his word; more of he was tired. Attempting to focus, she noticed the bags under his eyes, much worse than usual and even a touch of concern. For her, perhaps? She hadn't thought he could be concerned about her. Reluctantly, she pushed herself up onto her unsteady legs and attempted to stand. She stumbled and instantly put her hands out, catching herself on the Hound. She mumbled an apology, wincing at the throbbing pain in her head. "You're in no condition to go nowhere, girl," he grunted, going to put her back in the bed.

"I'm fine. We need to get moving, you said so yourself," she told him, stepping away from him. She swayed slightly, but managed to fight down the wave of nausea and keep on her feet. "Just let me change and I can be ready in fifteen minutes." She felt sweaty and gross and wished she could wash up. Perhaps after they were on the road a bit.

"Little bird, this isn't the time to argue," he said, his voice giving all sorts of warnings of arguments.

"That's why we won't be. Are you ready to go?" She turned and stumbled over to her bags for a clean dress. She was grateful that she hadn't gotten anything on her dress. The purple one her favorite so far. When she started looking around for her clothes, blinking rapidly to clear her foggy head, she could feel the Hound's eyes on her back and almost sense the glower he was most likely giving her. After a moment, she huffed in frustration. Where were her clothes at?

It took her a moment to remember that her clothes were outside, still drying from the day before. With a sigh, she turned to the Hound, who was watching her with the most unamused expression she'd ever seen. "I'll just wear this until we stop. Let's get going so we don't start out late," she said. Sansa felt like she was talking to a wall, by the look on his face and the lack of reply. After a long moment of awkward, frustrating silence, she asked, "Well, are you ready?"

After a moment, the Hound started laughing. It was the last thing Sansa had expected and, for a moment, she had no clue what to say. Still, it got the Hound up. "You think you're ready to go, Little Bird? Fine, can't wait to see how well this goes." He grabbed his bags and threw her an empty one. She barely managed to catch the thing and the room spun by her sudden movements. She almost thought she was going to heave yet again, but her stomach settled. By the expression on his face, it was obvious Sandor had expected this. "Grab the garments." He grabbed her bags and started out.

After a moment, Sansa followed him slowly, trying to keep herself from swaying. She barely made it out of the building before she had to lean against the wall to keep the area from spinning. The Hound didn't even look at her as he started over to where the horses were at. She took the moment to crouch over and stop the place from swimming. After a moment of deep breathing and keeping her eyes shut, Sansa straightened up and started towards the line all of their garments were hanging off of. She collected each one, folded them carefully, and stuffed them all into the empty bag. It hardly closed, but she knew it was smarter to travel as light as possible while they were on the run. She'd already acquired too much, with all the books she had, but Sansa had to be able to keep herself occupied as well.

Sansa had just settled down the stairs tiredly, when Sandor returned with both horses in hand. He was snapping at Stranger, who happened to bite at Malia yet again. She tried to get up to lend a hand, but instead, she leaned over and dry heaved just a bit next to the stairs. Groaning in frustration and some pain, she let herself lay on the stairs limply, feeling worse for wear than she could remember in a long time. Her cheek had gone from a dull throb to a fiery pain. Her head pounded like a gong and all she wanted to do was sleep, just for a while longer.

But, glancing at the Hound through her hair and seeing his slightly amused expression at her discomfort, it gave her the motivation to get up and stumble over to the horses. She didn't really feel like she could actually ride herself, but she knew it was necessary to. So, pathetically, she swung herself up in the saddle, swaying and leaning over a bit when she was hit with a wave of nausea. Soon enough, it passed. When she straightened back up, Sandor had a flask in hand he offered to her. She hesitated to take the flask, concerned it was more of the horrible wine. Sandor finally snapped, "It's just water girl. Drink it."

Gratefully, she took the bottle and drank it, slowly enough where it wouldn't upset her stomach. The Hound finished strapping up the packs and was taking his own swigs of, what Sansa imagined, was wine. Her stomach felt a bit better with the water in her system and she hoped that this would stay the case while they were riding Stanger and Malia. If they didn't move so fast today, maybe she could even get a little reading in. She hoped that they didn't need to move so much during the day.

As they first started up towards the entrance, Sansa felt comfortable enough to ride for some time. She figured this would be an easy enough to deal with a headache and a little nausea. That was, until the swaying of the horse continued and her vision was blurring. She stopped Malia, closing her eyes and trying to ignore the sudden wave of nausea that threatened to spill over. She waited several moments before she opened her eyes and noticed the Hound hadn't even noticed she'd stopped. The entrance of town wasn't too far away, so swallowing, she started Malia forward again. By the time she arrived at the entrance, Sandor and Thamos had quit speaking.

As soon as both men set eyes on Sansa, it was clear she looked about as bad as she felt. "I feel that the gal should stay the rest the day," Thamos said hesitantly.

"Absolutely not," Sansa said, trying to sound stronger than she felt. Her voice wavered, but she refused to back down.

Before either could say more, the entire group was startled by the figure that suddenly appeared from the shadows. Sandor scowled first, glowering at the tired looking girl in front.

"Come down here," Cat said, panting and leaning over her knees to catch her breath. Sansa hesitated for half a moment, then she slid down off the horse. Her stomach lurched and she greatly wished she'd just insisted on staying up on the horse.

They waited a moment for Catriona to catch her breath, then she straightened up and picked up a package Sansa hadn't realized was there. "Ya… will need this," she wheezed, pressing it into her hand. Sansa could recognize the blade wrapped up, no matter that it was dark. Just the weight of it gave it away. The smaller package glued on the outside confused her a bit more. "I put some ointment and milk of poppy to help with the cheek. It'll help."

Sansa stared at the package a moment longer, stunned. First it had been Willy, now it was Catriona. What was it that made others want to give her items to help along the journey? Overwhelmed, Sansa threw her arms around Catriona, stunning the girl for a moment by the hug. Reluctantly, Cat hugged her in return. Sansa whispered, "Thank you. You have no idea what this means." She promised herself, this moment wasn't anything she would forget; she'd return the kindness everyone had given her in this village.

Unfortunately, her stomach refused to let her get on Malia herself. The Hound had to help her in the saddle, with a scowl and muttering something she couldn't hear. Sansa's stomach had finally settled to feeling like a stone had set in her stomach. It was better than feeling a roll of nausea constantly. As they started out into the waning dark, Sansa turned back to wave at Catriona, who was still at the entrance, watching them leave. When she couldn't see the entrance of the village, she finally returned her attention back to keeping up with Stranger.

They rode for a couple of hours, up until the sun was starting to rise in the sky. By then, they had to stop while Sansa's stomach heaved up the little bit of water and food she'd nibbled on while they rode. The Hound, barking with laughter over how he was right, started sharpening their blades, although he kept Sansa's sword still a bit dull. No need to cut a hand off their first try with the blade. Sandor decided to keep them stopped for most of the morning.

Sansa finally settled down next to the Hound, leaning her head against the tree and closing her eyes. She wanted them to keep moving, but she needed to give her stomach time to rest. Her head really wasn't helping much either and her cheek throbbed painfully. She finally unwrapped Catriona's little package and took a sip out of the Milk of Poppy. She dozed in and out for a while, listening to the Hound work.

When she woke up, feeling more refreshed, the Hound had gotten a few rabbits for them to eat. Glancing at the sun, she confirmed that it was nearly lunchtime. As she settled in beside the fire and took one of the rabbits, she mumbled, "Sorry I slept so long."

The Hound grunted in return and said, "We'll practice with the blades for a while, then ride through the night." She figured that was a way to make up some time.

So she nodded, taking another bite of the bland meat. For a moment, she longed for some spices. But she squashed that thought as soon as it started. There was no way that she was going to start wishing her stupid childish thoughts. She was past that now, she knew that nothing mattered compared to what other people lived off of, what she dressed and wore, and how she looked and acted. Things had to be different if she expected to survive out here. This was why she was learning with daggers and her sword and how to protect herself. She couldn't expect the Hound to be there for her forever.

She peeked over at the Hound, as he was devouring his portion of the meal. She remembered when she asked him about what he planned to do. He didn't seem like he actually had a plan at all. It was almost sad. He'd ruined his chance at King's Landing, took her with him, and made himself as good a fugitive as she was. She still didn't understand why he came for her. Why bother with a girl he knew wouldn't do well on her own outside the palace walls?

"What you staring at?" he grunted, barely glancing up at her. She flushed and looked down again, stuffing what was left of the rabbit in her mouth. When she didn't reply, he scowled at her and took another deep drink of wine.

"How long will we be training today?" she asked him.

"Until you're too tired," he snapped. "Is it too difficult to ask for a little piece while I'm eating?"

Sansa scowled at him this time, glaring. She stood up, leaving her rabbit mess where she was, and started toward the stream they were near. She could use a quick splash in the cool water to get off some of the grim. She went to their packs and pulled out a change of her clothes. She wanted to put her purple gown away before it got any dirtier. She set her clothes on a rock near the bank and started stripping down. The water wasn't nearly as deep as some of the other banks, but it came up to her stomach. She could crouch and still immerse herself decently well.

She scrubbed at her skin as best as she could without any cloths to assist. The water wasn't nearly as chilly as the last stream so bathed in, so it was easier to enjoy the water this time around. It was almost easy to pretend that she was bathing in one of the small ponds in Winterfell during an extremely chilly morning. She enjoyed these little fantasies once in a while, pretending she could still just be a kid when she was alone.

Eventually the chill of the water chased her from the stream and she tried to dry herself out as best as she could with the little bit of clothes she could ignore being a little damp. She missed her drying cloths from when she was done from her baths and almost wished she'd found one in the hidden village. She ran a hand through her dripping locks, faintly glancing at her dark strands. She almost missed her auburn locks, at times like this.

By the time she finished dressing and had turned around, she noticed the Hound was up doing something. Faintly, she wondered if he could see her bathing, but at this point she didn't care much. Besides she'd started to think that maybe he wouldn't have bothered looking. He was a lot different than she could have possibly imagined. Sure, he had that rough exterior, the Hound he put out for the world to see. But he had a side, one she noticed the longer she was out here. He kept that side hidden from the world, but she saw it glimpse through. As she thought about it, she noticed how often it had come out in King's Landing when he was protecting her as best as he could. He had a gentler side, one that only she got to see in those brief glimpses.

Any tiny bits of frustration she had from earlier melted away and left a small smile on her face. When she finally got up the slope, she noticed he had everything packed up aside from her new blade. The Hound, no _Sandor, _barely glanced at her before tossing the blade at her. She was prepared for it this time, after Kaine had done the same thing over and over, and caught the handle, only fumbling a bit. The Hound pulled out his own blade and faced her with an almost intrigued look on his face. "Let's see what you can do." She took a deep breath, staring at the huge, muscular man in front of her. Then she lifted up her sword and started towards him.

They took nearly an hour to train, Sansa coming towards Sandor again and again. He started teaching her how to dodge attacks and work around a much larger opponent. His orders were much smarter than Kaine's or Cat's ideas of fighting. It was clear exactly what the difference was in each person's experience and that made her happy to have the chance to work with Sandor.

While it was an excellent idea to train for this long, it took off a lot of their traveling time. She felt bad that they would have to ride through the night. She was sure that Sandor was tired, especially since he had probably been up all night drinking before that. When Sandor tried telling her they'd stop for lunch, Sansa insisted they started riding and that she could eat on the way. She even asked, "Is it possible that I could just ride with you? I could do a little reading too."

"Fine," he grunted, tying Malia so she would follow Stranger. He hefted her up onto Stranger first, handed her the bag full of books, and got on last. They started out, going slower than Sansa would expect them to. Sandor handed her some bread and an apple as they rode. He kept one arm draped around her loosely, to prevent her from falling since she wouldn't be holding onto anything while she ate and read. She wasn't terribly hungry, so she ate all of the apple she could and nibbled on the bread a bit. She offered the core for Stranger, which Sandor gave him. It was as if the dark horse understood that Sansa had offered the apple to him, for he didn't seem to mind when she settled a hand on his neck this time. It made her smile a little more.

When the sun was waning, she finally put her book aside about the Children of the Forest. They stopped long enough to hook up the bags, get some food pulled out for supper, and a bathroom break. She got back up on Stranger, already yawning slightly and rubbing at her eyes. It had been quite the exhausting day. Her head still hurt and her cheek was throbbing at odd moments of the day. She was ready for a night of rest.

The Hound seemed to sense her weariness. He was gentler with her when he helped her up to Stranger and even took out his white cloak to drape around her shoulders. As he got up behind her, he handed her the bottle she clearly recognized. She made a face. "I really don't need the Milk of Poppy," she said, trying to keep the note of whining out of her voice as much as possible.

"Just drink it, Little Bird. It'll help you sleep," he said, his voice low. She stared at him for a moment and reluctantly took the bottle.

"I won't drink much." She took just enough that she knew would make her sleepy and handed back the bottle. It didn't take long until she started feeling the effects of the medicine. She leaned against Sandor for support so she wouldn't fall off and started closing her eyes. Just as she was falling into the darkness, she mumbled, "Thank you for saving me, Sandor." She had no clue what he thought when she called him by his first name for she was gone long before he could say a word.

#

#

The next week started going for similar pattern. She learned how to work with the sword more, swinging and dodging. Sandor taught her the best ways to use the strengths of her body, mostly her legs, and even took some hands-on-hands experience with escaping a man's grip. They took time between Sansa's sneak attacks with her daggers, her sword, and when Sandor had a hold on her. He taught her the best ways to escape, how to trick the men to loosening their grip on her. He'd wrap his large arms around her thin frame and hold her tight. She learned how to wiggle an arm loose to hit between the legs, biting onto forearms, and even how to use her small frame to flip a man over her. She had no clue if she'd be able to do the last part, but it was nice to have the information for future use.

Within this week, her cheek started healing up decently. It was taking longer than it should have, the wound leaked occasionally, but for the most part they staved off infection. She kept it cleaned, used the ointment that Cat had also given her, and had Sandor check the wound every day. It itched terribly after the third day, but whenever she tried scratching it started bleeding. She was more afraid of ripping one of the stitches than taking care of an annoying itch. The Milk of Poppy helped a lot if she couldn't sleep because of the wound. Unfortunately, it was almost gone. She was nervous about how she'd sleep after this. It gave her sleepless dreams unlike any other times since King's Landing and her father…

By the seventh day riding, the air was becoming cooler. Sansa could tell they were getting near the North. She knew they were still really far away and it would take a lot longer to get to Riverrun with being so far off path. She understood all of this. Still, she was antsy to move. She gave up reading and tried persuading Sandor to ride faster and longer. He heeded her words like it was unimportant. He kept them at a slow pace.

She voiced her irritation that night while they put out the fire from the squirrels Sandor had managed to catch. "We could get there faster if we rode longer and faster. I can handle more riding now." Which was true, as she had long since grown used riding. Her legs no longer cramped or felt chafed raw. In fact, she was feeling stronger altogether. Any of her chubbiness she had from being so laid up in King's Landing had since faded. She even noticed a buildup of muscle from her training.

Sandor snapped at her, growling lowly, "I know how to fucking travel. Do you want to run the horses to death? This isn't a matter of how fucking fast we can move, it depends on how strong we keep the animals. That stupid horse of yours doesn't have more strength than what we give already, plus lack of food. Use your damn head."

"I am using my head," she said hotly, glaring at him over the ash of their fire. "I'm trying to think of the fastest way you can get rid of me so you can go off whoring in the Free Cities." She had no clue why she'd said that and it only made her angrier thinking of him off, protecting some other stupid girl. She stood up suddenly, feeling a catch in her chest she hadn't expected. It made her madder, mad enough to storm off from the campsite with a blade in hand to train.

The fact he didn't even say a word to stop her was the worst part.

She pulled out her daggers first and threw them at a tree, only partially satisfied the blades had started to stick into the wood. She didn't get why she was mad the Hound was going to leave. She'd known this from day one, knew he didn't plan to stick around. He had no reason to stick around… With a growl, she threw both daggers, missing the tree. She was breathing heavily, angrily. She noticed some moisture on her face and looked up at the sky. It was dark, fully night now, but she could tell it wasn't drizzling. She touched her face and noticed she was crying. Why? She stepped forward to the tree and grabbed the daggers off of the ground.

Before she could contemplate it, she was alerted by a sudden presence. She'd barely sensed it, but the sound of a twig snapping startled her. She swung around, thankful she'd tucked one of the daggers up in her sleeve. She kept the other out and put her sword out in front of her. She waited, listening carefully. Then she called out hesitantly, voice shaking slightly, "Sandor?"

She waited in the silence for a moment. Then she heard a slight chuckle. "Not quite, little girl." She felt arms wrap around her. A stranger's arms. He covered her mouth just as she went to scream and wrestled to get the weapons out of her hand. Then he started to drag her off, into the night.

**~A/N~**

**I'm sorry for the long update! I'm more sorry that not much happened in this chapter. There isn't much talking between them yet, but I've been trying to work up to this point. The next chapter is where everything really starts working together and a lot more buildup for the future. I'm excited for these next chapters. We've had a good jump up from before and are finally getting the middle...ish of the story. There's still a lot, a lot of chapters to come. I'm expecting at least another twenty? I hope anyways. I don't have a plan on ending it soon, although there's a lot of changes to happen compared to the books. Especially saving one certain character (I know that's not a great idea, but I couldn't stand to see him die in the books or show and I can't imagine writing him dying).**

**I hope you enjoyed the chapter!**

**R&amp;R**

**XmX**


	8. Chapter Eight: Overcome

**Chapter Eight: Overcome**

She fought as hard as she could, trying to remember what it was she needed to do next. She threw herself forward as best as she could, momentarily stalling the man that was basically suffocating her. She bit down on his hand as hard as she could and was happy when she broke the skin. The man cursed, loosening his grip. Perfect. She let the dagger slide out of her sleeve and she stabbed him in the leg, as hard as she could. She twisted the blade for good measure. Just as the man started to howl in pain, she let go of the blade and swung her arm between his legs. That dropped him to the ground, moaning in pain. A quick glance around her informed her that he was alone.

She crouched down, stepping on his leg, and yanked the blade out of his leg. Vaguely, she was aware of the fact she should do more to stop him from following her. Instead, she tucked the blade into the strap between her legs and ran towards her sword and other dagger. She stooped to pick them off the ground, barely slowing and started running towards camp. She shouted then, loud and clear. She didn't say his name, only shouted so she knew he heard her. He might be mad at what she said earlier, but he wouldn't abandon her. She knew he wouldn't.

It didn't take long to find the camp. She stopped running, crouching behind a tree to see Sandor in a fight with three men. He parred back and forth, keeping the men barely at bay. After slipping her second blade into her sleeve, she started moving slowly between the trees until she was near enough… Any thoughts of a plan she had went out the window as soon as she saw one man go to stab Sandor in the back. "Leave him alone!" she fairly screamed as she ran out, barely slicing the man with her blade before she was at Sandor's side. She kept the blade in front of her, waiting for one of the men to come at her. They had all stopped suddenly, intrigued to see her with him. Maybe they'd known she was with him and had expected to see her tied up already. How else had the other man found her?

Faintly, Sansa realized that Sandor was slowly wrapping an arm around her and tugging her closer. She took a slow step back, feeling his cool armor through the clothes. "What the bloody hell did the whore do to my man?" shouted, who Sansa assumed to be, the leader, glaring and stepping closer to them. Sandor snarled in response, moving Sansa so he could shove her behind him and keep her back safely against a tree. She kept her blade up, glancing between the two men closest to her. She had no clue what these men would do to her. She didn't know how she could take on two decently skilled men when she had little training and even less experience. It was just luck she only had the one man to deal with.

"Tell me where my man is," the leader snarled again, staring past Sandor's shoulder to look at Sansa.

"He's on the ground, bleeding," Sansa told him, the confidence she felt earlier that week completely gone. "He just jumped me and I didn't know what else to do." She felt like she was explaining more to Sandor than this man.

"Damn whore," the leader muttered, glaring at her. "Edrick, go find that useless man. Now!"

The one closest to Sansa took one last lingering glare at Sansa, then turned and ran towards where Sansa had been training. The leader finally took a good look over them and a small smirk spread across his face. "Well, well, well it looks like we found the bloody Hound and his little bitch. How's it feel to be a turncloak now, Dog?" he said, the smirk widening.

"You should be talking," Sandor growled, "Attacking a defenseless girl and a man while he's pissin'. Pathetic." He spat at the ground, glaring between the four.

"What's the whore you got with you? Finally decided you wanted to rut around-"

"Leave the girl out of this. Touch her and I'll gut ya all like the pigs you are."

Sansa wasn't sure what to say. Whatever strength she'd had when she stabbed that man was gone. She felt like she was back in King's Landing, back in that alley, with that disgusting man on top of her. Asking her, "_Have you ever been fucked, little girl?" _This could very well be the third most terrifying experience in her life. Maybe even her worst, if things went like she was envisioning. She didn't want to seem so useless, so afraid, but she couldn't help but press closer to the Hound. He had a decent chance of surviving this attack, more if Sansa could throw her daggers right at two of the men. But the way her hands were suddenly shaking, she didn't feel that she would be able to throw straight, if very far, at all.

Suddenly, hands were pulling at her. She'd taken her eyes off the other man, just for a second, but that was enough. Sandor couldn't grab a hold of her and defend off three other men and she was yanked before she could do anything. She didn't dare struggle, just waited until the man got close enough, and she stabbed down with the sword. She doubted that they thought she would use it, in fact she didn't think she could use it. But panic blossomed in her chest so fierce, instincts that Sandor had taught her had taken over. So she stabbed him, right through his boot, and left her sword there. She tried escaping, but the man was clutching onto her arm painfully, cursing her. He took a good swing, right at her face and hit her as hard as he could. She sprawled to the ground, half way across the clearing.

That was all it took to get the Hound out, and he struck out at the man that hit Sansa. She watched the blade strike the man, nearly taking off his shoulder. A second man went at the Hound and he kicked him straight in the chest. A third grabbed onto Sansa before she could get up and pressed a blade across her throat, hard enough to bring a trickle of blood to the surface. "Dog, I'll cut the cunt's throat!" That stopped him, panting and growling, staring at the man behind Sansa. Reluctantly, he dropped his blade. The leader of the group walked up and kicked out Sandor's knees. He snarled at the leader, but they didn't give him a chance to react. The last two free men started tying him up before he had a chance to hit again.

The man holding Sansa jerked her over towards Sandor. She didn't dare look at him, for fear of giving away her tears that were in her eyes. They tied her up beside him and shoved her to the ground, spitting at her as well. When the Hound started growling at the man, the leader snapped, "We not gonna touch that filthy bitch till her Mutt is dead." Her hands were finally tied and they shoved her down beside Sandor.

They were close enough that no one could hear when the Hound said lowly, "Leave the daggers hidden." She knew he meant until the last possible moment. If they touched her or hurt her. She knew that's what he meant. It was possible she could take a few of them out worst case. Otherwise, she'd kill herself before she got raped. She refused to go through that torture. She would end it.

Two men came over and hauled both Sandor and Sansa to their feet and towards their horses. When they started separating them, Sansa struggled against them, staring after the Hound with wide eyes. He spat, "The girl rides with me. In't safe for her to otherwise."

"The bitch that useless?" one of the men laughed. Still, he shoved them both towards Stranger instead of separately. Sandor had to awkwardly get up onto Stranger with his tied hands. The dark horse, already full of attitude, was more skittish and snappy with these strangers around him. It was almost impossible to get on his first try, but a snap at the horse settled Stranger enough for him to swing up on. The men had more trouble getting Sansa up, but after several attempts (and two bites), the men had her sitting up in front of the Hound. She pressed as close as she could to him, scared she would fall off. She did good riding when she had loose hands to steady herself, but she didn't trust herself on her own with her hands tied up. Just when things didn't seem to be able to get much worse, they had sacks thrown over their head for the ride to wherever this Brotherhood was at.

She wished she'd been close by so they could have escaped before they were surrounded. She cursed herself for being a stupid girl over and over as they started off blindly into the night.

#

#

She couldn't be sure how long they rode for. What was supposed to be a decent night turned sour fast. She could hear the men talking, making crude comments about her and what they assumed the Hound had done to her. Some of their words made her so angry she wanted to hurt them all. During these times, it felt like her daggers were on fire, pressed so close to her skin. Sandor seemed to be able to sense what she was feeling, for he pressed a hand against her arm when she tensed. He murmured very little to her, but it was reassure to hear his voice, even when he talked about harming the men that touched her. She was glad two of them were injured from her blade. The Hound had caused several more wounds.

She could tell when the terrain changed around her just by Stranger's steps. Eventually, she even heard the occasional splash of water from the horse's step. She tensed by every dip or splash or the sound of the men. She was exhausted, but she couldn't sleep. Her right cheek hurt more from the smack the man had given her. Her stitches throbbed more than anything.

Eventually, the horse stopped moving. She tried peering through the fabric like she had earlier, but it was just blackness everywhere. Occasionally she saw the flicker of a torch, but it was nothing to help. She hated this feeling of being so blind to everything that was happening. The men were talking, conversing quietly. Sansa, with her heightened sense of hearing, could tell an extra voice had joined in the group. She strained to listen to what they were saying, trying to get an idea of where they were, who they were dragged to. In that moment, she bowed her head and prayed. If they were taking her back to Joffrey, to King's Landing, she didn't know what she would do. She was free. She was taking flight. She couldn't be put back in that golden cage surrounded by lions ready to feed on her.

Hands were at her suddenly. She panicked and kicked out, already knowing her hands were useless. She hit a target, hearing him grunt in discomfort. But then they were ripping her off of Stranger, while another man cursed at being bitten by the horse. Sandor was cursing the men, warning them off of touching her and, when she shrieked with surprise at another hand touching her, tried coming toward her blind and surrounded by swords. The men started leading Sansa forward, her stumbling at the lack of vision and the uneven ground around her. She felt her foot sink into muddy ground and also a river, from the sound of the rushing water as well as the splash her steps made. They walked through this stream for quite some time, Sansa stumbled a bit when rocks slipped underneath her boots. Once, she fell, but two of the men grabbed her before she was completely submerged. Her sack slipped, just enough to glimpse the land in front of her. She swore she might have seen a cavern further up, but they covered her face again before she could make anything out.

It wasn't until they were on solid dry land nearly four miles up in the stream and another three on land that they finally stopped. Sansa was ready to fall over, nearly slumped in the hands of her captors. Despite riding with the Hound, she was still too tired after traveling almost a full day and night and walking so far as well. Her legs ached, her back throbbed in protest, and when they finally let go of her, she just sort of slumped onto the ground. The men removed both their sacks from their heads. The Hound came to her, crouching down and helping her to her feet. She wanted to lean against him, but when he tensed suddenly, she thought it wise to change her mind. It wasn't until she heard him speak she understood why he was tensed.

"I know you. Figured you lot were already dead," he said lowly, glancing between the men.

"You thought wrong, Clegane," a man said stepping forward.

"Baratheon deserter, Stark deserters, the lot of you. Never picked you to be part of such a pathetic group, Beric Dondarrion," he nearly spat, glaring at the man fiercely. Sansa's head snapped up at his name. She recognized it, from the Hand's Tourney. It was the same man Jeyne Poole had been so fond of during those days. Jeyne… She hadn't thought about her in ages. Thinking quickly, she ducked her head again. It wouldn't be good if any of these men recognized. They might have been her father's men at one time, the Old King's men, but they were no better than Joffrey's Gold Cloaks at this point. She couldn't trust them, not one bit. Not after what they said or had done so far.

Sandor suddenly put himself half in front of Sansa. She glanced up at the men, she hadn't paid any mind to what they'd been saying, but now Beric was here, closer to Sandor than before. He was speaking, "… You were the King's dog, but now your hundreds of miles from your precious kennel. What's a dog doing so far down with such a lovely lady?" It was now his gaze was focused on her. She moved further behind Sandor, her weariness momentarily forgotten. This was a dangerous den they were in.

She took the time to learn where she was, quickly looking over her situation. There were men everywhere, surrounding them. This cavern was cloaked in darkness, torches flickering light throughout. There was a large firepit near the center of this cavern. She noticed an upper outcrop of rocks she assumed was like a balcony. More people were up there, gazing down below. She turned her attention back to Beric and another man she could identify as Thoros.

"We have found the one true God, have been reborn by the Lord of Light. Now, it is your turn to be judged, in the sight of man for the crimes you've committed."

"Don't know what the bloody hell you're going on about," the Hound spat, "If you're gonna kill me, get on with it already."

"You know very well all the crimes you've committed, Dog!" a man to their left shouted. "You bloody lions were there at Mummer's Ford and Sherrer. Girls of six and seven were raped! Babes were cut in half right in front of their mothers!"

The Hound spat at him, glowering. "Wasn't near Mummer's Ford or Sherrer. Lay your dead children at someone else's door."

Thoros spoke, "You deny House Clegane was built upon dead children? What about the Targaryen babes?"

"Do you take me for my brother?" he growled lowly, barely glancing around the room. "I wasn't near the babes, not never. Never saw them or smelt them or breathed the same damn air as them."

Sansa's anger flared. These men didn't know a damn thing about Sandor. They just shoved whatever the Lannisters or the Mountain had done. Never had she once seen Sandor attack a man without reason or orders. Sandor seemed to have the same thoughts for he continued, "Don't dump crimes that are not mine on my shoulder. If you're gonna kill me, get on with it already!"

That was the last straw for Sansa. She shoved her way in front of Sandor, surprising him and most of these outlaws in front of her. "None of you knows what he's done," she said, fairly growling herself. She looked straight at Beric and Thoros, no longer caring if anyone saw who she really was. "He's been there when everyone else has abandoned me. He saved me from being raped, used like some disgusting rag that could just be left in the street as garbage. I've never, _never _seen him hurt a person that didn't rightfully deserve it or under orders. Find someone that he hurt, simply because it was joyful to him. Try it. You won't find a thing."

"Little bird," the Hound said warningly, taking her arm as if that would stop her.

"Well, well if it isn't the Hound's Bitch. Looks like you've got some fight in you yet," a man near sneered at her. She didn't let that distract her, didn't even flinch at the nickname. It wasn't any worse than in King's Landing. She simply stared at the men in front of her, fairly glowering at them. She knew this was wrong, knew she should have kept her mouth shut and been respectful. Used her courtesies to keep her mouth shut. She knew better. What she was saying could expose everything.

But she didn't care. She was tired of all these horrible things being said about the man who'd rescued her, who took her from a dangerous city to bring her home to her family. So she stood there, chin raised in defiance of these traitors. Suddenly, Beric was looking at her in a new light, eying her carefully. Sandor suddenly put his hand on her and snapped, "Girl, get back. This isn't the place-"

"What's your name, girl?" Beric asked, ignoring the calls of the "Hound Bitch" and "Whore".

"I picked the name Nyma," she said, eyes narrowing slightly. "From the story of Nymeria. Was my mother's favorite story when I was still with her at the Whore's Den."

"Where would I know you from?"

Suddenly, she understood that he recognized her. Despite the loss of weight, despite the color of her hair and its shortness, he could still see her under the disguise. It made her panic. Then she felt the Hound's hand on her, grounding her to the present. "Leave the girl out of this," he growled. "Kill me if you will, but leave her alone."

Before anyone could say more, there was the sound of a voice clearing, sounding deafening in the tense silence. All men turned towards a short fat boy, looking nervous that anyone actually looked at him. "Well, Arry… I-I mean Arya told me about some stories about the Hound. S-she said that… on the way to King's Landing…"

"Speak up boy," Thoros said, almost sounding bored. Sansa didn't care about the story. She could only focus on the facts that had been said. Arry, Arya, King's Landing… Was it possible?

"It was a boy named… Mitcha… or…"

"Mycah," Sansa breathed, eyes widening. It was clear exactly what had happened here. Was Arya still here? Could she really find-?

"That Stark bitch fled nearly a week ago," another man spat. "Who cares what she was on about?" Sansa's heart sank. She was sure by the look on her face that she'd given everything away. Beric had been watching her every expression. It was obvious he'd seen something.

"You know about this? How?" Beric said to her, as if he'd expected a direct answer.

Sansa thought fast. She couldn't trust these men to take her home, not in one whole piece. So she blurted out the first thing that came to mind, "She brought me food, in Flea Bottom." She vaguely remembered something of Flea Bottom when she was there. "Arry had brought food for me while I was on the streets. Told me some stories when she ranted about the Hound. But Sandor, he didn't do it on purpose!"

Thoros and Beric were talking among themselves quietly, glancing between Sansa, the Hound, and that stupid fat boy. Sansa wanted to turn and glare at the boy, but she was too scared that the Hound would be killed. Finally, Beric and Thoros turned to them. "Do you deny this accusation, Hound?" Beric asked. "Did you not kill this boy named Mycah?"

"Don't remember much," he said with a shrug. "If the boy king ordered something, I did it. Not my place to question the orders."

Sansa's stomach flipped. He was basically offering himself up to be killed! He couldn't just leave her here alone with these men. _A Hound will die for you, but never lie to you. _That was what he had said. He was being honest, but… damn him for doing this. Beric was staring at the Hound, as if contemplating what he had said. Finally, he spoke up, "You said accused of murder. But what's being said isn't anything that can be proven simply by words alone. So we have no choice but to leave you to be judged in the eyes of the Lord of the Light. I sentence you to trial by combat."

The passive look on the Hound's face gave Sansa a brief sigh of relief. These men would all be stupid to try going up against a man as large as the Hound. He'd been better fed this week than since they'd started out from King's Landing. He was strong, he was huge in muscle and height. None of these men would have a chance compared to the Hound.

"So who's going to take the chance at me?" he asked, staring at all these men, who suddenly didn't even want to meet the Hound's gaze. He snarled slightly at their cowardice, fully aware none of them were man enough to face him.

"I'm going to be the one to fight you."

Beric Dondarrion. Before Sansa could say anything, a man grabbed Sansa's arm, pulling her apart from Sandor. Instead of saying anything, she pressed her lips together and tried to stand as far away from him as possible. She understood that the Hound's fate depended on hers too. It would do no good to distract him now. She was a strong girl, she had managed to survive in King's Landing. She could handle this little challenge to be stronger.

Still, she couldn't stop her heart from beating a bit faster, feel worried about what would be happening. Worried that Sandor could be hurt in this battle, might end up leaving her all alone. She didn't want that fate for him, not one bit.

They'd moved towards the center of the cavern, closer to the fire. She could see the Hound tensing visibly the closer they moved to the fire. Sansa noticed that Thoros had begun to chant something softly, too quiet for her to hear, but it didn't take a genius to realize he was most likely praying over Beric. The Hound was given a sword and shield, hopefully his own, to fight with. He was ready and standing, waiting for Thoros and Beric to finish. When Thoros bowed his head a final time and stepped away, Sansa knew they were done.

What she didn't expect was for Beric to plunge his sword straight into the fire and bring it back out, aflame. Sansa panicked then. This wasn't good. Sandor was terrified of fire, utterly afraid of it. He'd flee from it now, if he had the choice to. She could see he was tense, far more than before, like he was struggling to ignore his fear. She couldn't believe what was going to happen.

For the first time in her life, Sansa was going to see, really see what it was like for two grown men to fight for their lives.

It was absolutely terrifying.

For a long moment, no one moved. The two stared at each other, waiting for the other to take the first swing. Then the Hound charged him. Sansa was sure that he could take him down, with how large and strong the Hound was. Still, Beric moved fast enough.

The flaming sword leapt up to meet the Hound's heavy swing. Steel rang on steel, the flames dancing through the air like they were alive. No sooner was Sandor's first attack blocked than he moved again, slashing towards Beric with all his strength. He met the blow straight on, using his shield to help block the attack and swinging his own flaming sword in a backslash to hit the Hound. The blows came high and low, fast and strong, again and again as the parred over the uneven dark ground.

Suddenly, one blow hit Sandor's shield and one of the dogs lost its head. He countercut, and Dondarrion used his own shield to impose another fiery attack. Sansa could hear the outlaw brothers chanting, shouting, _"He's yours!" _ She gasped, covering her mouth when the Hound parried a cut at his head. She could hear him cursing and imagined the flames was making this fight so much worse.

She did the one thing she could think of in this situation; she bowed her head and prayed. She reached out to the Old Gods, asking them to keep Sandor safe. "He's the only one I have left right now," she whispered, ending her prayer. When she raised her head, her eyes widened in shock. While swinging swords, the two fighters had ended up at blazing pit of the fire. A quick glance told Sandor exactly what was behind him and nearly cost him his head when Beric attacked anew.

Sandor bulled his way forward, as far away from the pit as he could as quickly as possible. Three steps forwards, another two back, a movement to the left side that Lord Beric blocked, meeting each of his attacks. A sheen of sweat had started to build up on his brow, plastering his dark hair to his brow. Sansa didn't know how drunk he was, it was possible that was all wine sweat. '_Oh, please be okay,' _she thought, wanting to squeeze her eyes shut, but she was stuck staring at him, watching them fight back and forth. Lord Beric Dondarrion put the Hound back on his toes. His flaming sword flying and whirling and slashing. Before long, he was taking back what ground Sandor had gained. Again and again, step by step, they moved back towards the flames.

"_Bloody bastard!" _the Hound screamed, feeling the flames lick at his thighs. He charged forward, swinging the heavy sword harder and faster than before. He feels cornered, Sansa realized, her chest tight. This was too much of a last chance to survive. She felt tears collecting in her eyes and forced them back, refusing to believe he would be harmed. The Hound tried to break the smaller man down with sheer force alone, whether it was a shield or the sword or an arm. But Beric seemed to expect this, for he used his sword and the flames to fight back. The flames snapped at the Hound's eyes, sending his reeling away. He lost his footing and he staggered down to one knee. Sansa screamed then, unable to take her eyes away, sure that Dondarrion's downcut would be the end.

In one last moment, Clegane jerked his shield up over his head. The cave rang with a loud _crack _of the splintering shield. It was on fire. Her heart sank, watching the fire dance up the wood. For the moment, Sandor seemed to be fighting his fear, ignoring the flame climbing up his arm, as he fought back with a sloppy counterattack. But then she realized he hadn't known it was from his own shield. As soon as Beric moved a pace away, he realized that the flames were on him. He savagely beat at the shield on his arm, taking off one half. But a piece stubbornly refused to give, clinging to his forearm. Move of his clothes began to go aflame.

"_Finish him!"_

"_Guilty!"_

The men were shouting at Beric to finish him off. The Hound didn't seem to notice when his opponent slid towards him to finish the fight. Sansa did the only thing she could think of, she screamed, _"Sandor!"_

_A_t her voice, his head jerked up and saw just as the blade was swinging down at him. He gave a rasping scream, raised his own sword in both his arms and brought it crashing down with all his might. She covered her eyes at this moment, not sure if she could look to see what had happened. She heard the sound of snapping steal, of blade meeting man's flesh. A man rolled off, she could hear the thump of the body. And then she heard his cursing, his voice cutting through the sudden silence. She lifted her head, not sure if she could believe it.

She watched him rip the rest of his shield off his burning arm and watched as he rolled in the dirt to put out the rest of the flames. When he tried to rise, he could only whimper and fall back to the ground. "Sandor!" She ripped her arm from the captor holding her and ran to him, feeling the tears on her cheek. No one tried to stop her as she ran to him. She could hear him crying, begging, "Help me, please" and knew he was badly burned. The crowd seemed to part for her as she crouched beside him. She ignored looking at his arm for the moment, pressing close to him and hugging him. She murmured, "I'm here. Don't worry, I am."

He was cradling his arm, leaning heavily against Sansa. She didn't care, didn't care how he smelt of smoke and burnt flesh. "Please. I'm burned. Help me, please." She knew he was asking out for the men, despite the fact he was nearly crying. Tears burned in her eyes and fell down her cheeks anew. She'd thought she was done crying, but seeing this man who'd protected her, become her savior, brought a fresh wave of tears.

She pulled away from him, still close, and nearly shouted, "Aren't any of you going to help him?! You all did this to him. You made him into the Hound, into some monster who has to follow orders he doesn't want to. It's all your fault! He's a good man." By the end, she was crying all over. They were all silent for a moment, watching the young woman huddled close to the Hound, holding up his weight.

Finally, after far too long, Thoros said, "The Hound, Sandor Clegane, has been judged innocent. Melly, see to his burns. Lem, Jack, help me with Lord Beric…" She tuned out what they were saying, grateful someone would help with the burns. She reached up a hand, gently touching his face. Sandor jerked from her, finally actually looking at her. She could see his arm from the corner of her eye, burned red and black, but she didn't care. She touched his face again, feeling the sheen of sweat and, what she could guess, tears. He tried to keep his burned side turned from her, but she told him softly, "Let me look."

"Don't you dare, Little Bird," he rasped out, voice shaking. Instead of pushing it, she hugged him again, pressing against his soot covered armor.

"Girl, step away from him." Some woman was crouched near her, a blank expression on her face. She noticed a man, vaguely remembered his name as Tom something, standing beside who Sansa could assume was Melly. After a moment, she slid away from Sandor, still close, but giving both people enough room to help Sandor to his feet. When he was on his feet, she finally got a good look at his arm. It was enough to almost make her sick. Where there had been a leather strap the flesh was a strip of bright pink flesh. The rest of his arm was cracked and red and bleeding, from elbow to wrist. When he met Sansa's shocked eyes, his mouth twitched. "I told you not to look," he told her, attempting to stand. When he did, a piece of burned flesh sloughed right off his arm to the floor. His knees went out under him. Tom barely caught his good arm and helped him stay up.

When she moved to go closer to him, Melly stepped in the way and ordered, "We're taking him over there," with a nod of her head. She knew Melly wanted her to follow, but she couldn't take her eyes off of Sandor, so hurt and damaged.

"He doesn't deserve this," she said, voice shaking, but whether it was from sadness or anger, she wasn't sure.

"Perhaps not," she heard, the voice scarcely louder than a whisper. When she turned, Lord Beric Dondarrion was on his feet, bloody hand clutching onto Thoros by the shoulder.

"That's not possible," she whispered.

**~A/N~**

**So, I basically had this whole chapter written up over a week ago. Granted, I'd scraped it twice before and rewrote whole paragraphs. But the worst of it was the fight scene. Which I'm finally happy with. Hopefully the chapter was as good as I felt it was. Thank you for reviewing!  
**

**R&amp;R**

**XmX**


	9. Chapter Nine: Gone

**Chapter Nine: Gone**

They moved the Hound into a secluded section of the cavern to treat his wounds. After much shock of seeing Beric up and alive, with the sudden new scar she could see, Sansa was ready to be away from all these people. Melly let her come with and even sit beside Sandor as she worked on his burned left arm. By the time he was down and on a cot, he was in so much pain Melly even forced down some of their Milk of Poppy. There hadn't been much they'd give him, so Sansa wanted to give them what she had of her Milk of the Poppy that had been for her stitches (even though she had no clue where their bags were). Her cheek had started throbbing again, but she ignored it for the moment.

By this time, Sandor had passed out. Sansa suspected it was more of the mental stress of being burned than the actual pain itself or the Milk of Poppy. They managed off his armor and tunic and set them off to the side. Melly had her run for a few items; a salve as well as some herbs and plants, and even some large leaves. The woman was even kind enough to boil a bit of wine to clean up the wounds, despite the fact they had very little.

When Sansa offered to help, the woman clucked and told her to sit by Sandor instead. Tom was there to help hold down the Hound in case he woke up. Sansa took his right hand in hers, watching Melly do what she could to keep the wounds from festering. First she trickled the wine as evenly as possible over the open wounds. It woke Sandor up with a shout of pain. Tom barely held his shoulders down. Sandor clenched onto Sansa's hand as hard as possible. She was sure her hand would bruise, but she didn't care. She leaned over and stroked his good side of his face and murmured things to him to calm him down. By the time the wound was cleaned up and the dead flesh picked out, the Hound had passed out once more from the pain. Sansa was nauseous watching Melly pick at the flesh and throw bits aside in a bowl, but she didn't once look away or step aside. She only let go of his hand long enough to uncramp her own crushed one, but she took his again as soon as she could.

It took nearly an hour to clean up his arm. Afterwards, Melly had Sansa help mix up some of the herbs and plants into the salve to help with the burns. This time Sansa was able to help spread the salve over his arm, wincing when she pushed too hard down on the flesh. The smell didn't bother her nearly as much anymore. In fact, half the time she could ignore it altogether.

When Melly wanted to wrap Sandor's wounds in leaves, Sansa protested. "That could make the wounds even worse," she said, almost leaning over Sandor's left side protectively. "He should have some proper wrappings for his wounds."

Melly clicked her tongue, glaring at the girl in front of her. "Girl, this is healthier for his wounds. Wrapping linen in the wilderness like this is asking for rot to set in."

Sansa almost argued with the woman, but reluctantly shut her mouth and decided to move aside to let the woman work. She watched silently, eyes on Sandor's face the entire time. He still looked like he was in pain, despite being unconscious. She touched his left cheek lightly, stroking the scarred flesh and she expected him to move away from her. Instead, she was able to touch his cheek for the second time. It was still as she remembered it; rough, but warm. She found she actually enjoyed touching his left side, it seemed like a story she still hadn't gotten to hear from him herself.

Finally, she couldn't keep quiet anymore and asked softly, "What's going to happen to his arm?"

She could see Melly's hands pause for a moment, then the woman said, "As long as it stays clean it should be fine. He'll be scarred, of course."

"Of course," she repeated quietly. "He's going to end up feeling more like a monster than ever before."

"Don't know what this man has done for you, but we all seen what he's done and capable of. He is a monster," Melly nearly spat.

Sansa felt a flare of anger and wanted to jump to his defense. Instead, she asked, "Was there really a girl named Arry here?"

"She went by that name, but Beric found her out as Arya Stark of Winterfell." For a moment, Sansa's heart swelled. Her sister was alive and well. But Melly brought her out of the thoughts with, "You knew her too?"

"Just a bit in Flea Bottom. She brought me food."

"What made the Hound want to take you with him?"

Sansa thought quickly and came up with a quick story, "He saved me from a brutal raping and took me into his chambers to help me get better. Brought me food and drink and then came for me during the battle of Blackwater Bay."

The woman nodded and stood up. "I'm sure you 'ren't gonna leave him. I'll send your bags over here for the time being." Sansa was sure the woman was going to report what she had said, but she didn't really care at this moment.

But Melly hesitated and crouched down beside Sansa. "What happened to your cheek?"

Instantly, her hands went to the stitches and she said, "Sword practice."

"They bleeding quite a bit." Now, Sansa could feel the sticky wetness on her cheek she hadn't noticed before. "You pulled a stitch."

"Probably when one man smacked me," she mumbled, letting Melly prod at her cheek for a moment, wincing at the sharp pain that traveled down her neck. She let Melly work on her, flinching and whimpering slightly when she started pulling apart a few of the stitches. It felt terrible, the line running through her skin, tugging and pulling in certain directions, and making odd sounds. Thankfully, she only undid four of the, tied off one end and set to redoing the four. Tears gathered at the corner of her eyes and she was clenching her hands together nearly as hard as Sandor had before, but she refused to cry or make a sound more than a whimper.

Her whole cheek was on fire when Melly was done. The woman left Sansa alone for the time being. Sansa moved over to Sandor's right side, settling down beside his cot, and leaned over onto the right side of the chest, resting her head on his chest. For the moment, she felt utterly numb. The only thing she could feel was the burning in her chest and her eyes. She finally let go all of the emotions she was feeling and cried. Really cried for the first time in a long time. From the loss of father, to the Hound that was unconscious in front of her, to Sandor who was burned all over again. And finally, for her cheek that throbbed with such fire, the tears that streaked down her cheeks couldn't begin to sooth the burn.

#

#

She had no clue how long it was before she woke suddenly, feeling someone touching her shoulder. She sat up, turning to stare down at the boy that was in front of her. It was that fat boy, the one who had accused Sandor of Mycah. He fidgeted uncomfortably by her gaze, but she noticed the bags in his hands and took them from him with a muttered, "Thanks."

"I… uh, I brought you some food too. We'd just eaten and I-I thought you might be hungry." He handed her bowl of watered broth she stared at for a moment.

"Did they take the food out of my bags?" At his nod, she sighed and looked through them. It was clear that they had gone through everything thoroughly. Her books had been searched, her clothes thrown into a mass of wrinkled fabric, and the food cleaned out. Sandor's stuff had also been looked through, the money taken as well as the food and wine. The Brotherhood without banners even took his spare dagger he used for their training time. It was obvious they'd even gone through her journal, not that they would have been able to read it. Thankfully, the stopper in the inkwell was still secure.

"Uh, Nyma…?" When Sansa glanced at him, half glaring still, he stammered out, "I-I'm sorry I didn't mean to nearly get him killed. I'd j-just heard so many rumors and then the stories from Arry…"

"I understand," she sighed, figuring it was better to forgive and forget all that had happened so far. She reached over to run her hands through Sandor's hair, staring at his slightly peaceful face. He still seemed like he was in a bit of pain. Sansa turned back around and grabbed for her bag. She scrounged through the bottom of her books and was pleasantly surprised to find the Milk of Poppy wedged down in the way bottom. It hadn't even broken! Relieved, she tucked the bottle more safely in the bag, planning on having Melly give him what was left. She could ignore the pain in her cheek for all the pains of the burns Sandor would be going through.

"I am sorry," he blurted out, catching Sansa's attention again.

She nodded, giving him a half smile and saying, "Thanks for the broth." Then she was left alone once more. She sipped at the broth as she continued looking at Sandor. She hoped it would be okay. She really did. She set the bowl to the side and pulled out her leather book to write in. She kept glancing up at Sandor as she wrote, writing down their adventure since they'd departed Willy's Inn.

Soon enough, she heard someone walking back. She quickly shut the book and stuffed it in her bag along with the corked inkwell. Just as she's starting to pull out a book, Melly walked in back, shifting a basket resting on her side. They stared at each other for a moment, then Sansa set aside the book in her lap and pulled out her vial of Milk of Poppy. "I had some in my satchel for the stitches. Will you be able to use it for Sandor? He's still in a lot of pain, but I know that this would be useful to the men as well. It's clear you all think he doesn't deserve to be treated like a good man, but…"

"That's fine, girl. It's yours to give out as you see."

She breathed a sigh of relief. "I'm sure he won't use even half of it before he'll insist he's fine, so you can use it all you want afterwards."

Melly nodded, reluctantly mumbled a thanks. She set the basket down, so Sansa could now see she had fresh herbs in the basket, and Melly stepped forward to take a quick look over Sandor's burns. They were still angry red and raw underneath the leaves, but they didn't look any worse. "Can you clean the wounds?"

Sansa nodded, standing up to help. They didn't have any wine at this moment, so Sansa was stuck boiling water to clear out the wound. They boiled it twice as long as they would have the wine and then poured it as thoroughly as possible over the flesh. Sandor didn't awake this time, just mumbled something in his sleep. Sansa spread more salve over his wound and carefully wrapped up the arm with the large leaves.

Melly had been silent up until this moment, but bid her over once the wound was wrapped. Sansa hesitated to leave his side, but went over anyways. She had the Stark girl help sort some of the herbs, mash up some more salve for others of the Brotherhood without Banners, and even help make extra Milk of the Poppy. "Wasn't able to find much herb wise for the mixture, but one of the scouts brought some from the village over." Sansa started asking a few questions about the Brotherhood to get a general idea of what they really stood for. She understood the basics of the group and that they stood for the old King's ways. As she heard more about the group, it didn't take long for her to realize it was just a group of thieves. And if they found out who she was, they'd probably try to just ransom her off to Robb and split her from Sandor.

That might have seemed like the better idea at the beginning of the trip, but by now, she'd grown fond enough of Sandor she didn't want to be separated from him. He'd protected her when everyone else had sneered at her, beat her, called her names, and let her be stripped. He'd covered her up, kept her from being raped, and thought of her when he could have easily fled and had a trip of drinking and whoring all the way through to the Free Cities.

Melly kept her at this all day, until it was dinnertime. The same boy brought over another bowl for Sansa, where she finally learned his name was Hotpie. The food was even more watered down than before, but she took what she could get eagerly. She was starving, despite chewing on a bit of mint leaves Melly had given her during lunch.

She changed Sandor's dressings again, although she just rinsed off the leaves to conserve their supplies. Sandor finally woke enough to be fed a bit of broth to her relief. Over the day, he'd been getting more feverish and she noticed his wound had started oozing just a bit. Melly assured her a little was normal, they just had to watch for any signs of rot. Sansa prayed after that, for fear of how he might react if he needed to get his arm cut off. They gave him more Milk of Poppy when he started talking feverishly, mumbling mostly incoherent words. She caught one in all the babble; Sahra.

Melly called her back over to help more. She was thankful for the distraction and hoped all the work would help distract her from the name she heard. It wasn't that she cared too much, but she wondered who the name was associated with. Anything to get a new glimpse of who Sandor really was… At least that's what she tried to tell herself.

After a while, Sansa was yawning constantly. She'd been up over twenty-four hours and had barely slept when she was lying on Sandor's chest. She was exhausted and, thankfully, Melly seemed to sense this. She shooed off the girl back to the cot and told her, "Go sleep away the night. I'll send one of the boys with breakfast in the morning." Sansa didn't argue this time, sleepily making her way over to Sandor and fairly collapsing in the small cot set up right next to him. She made sure both her daggers were easily within reach before she passed out.

By the time she woke up, slightly disoriented and still sluggish, she made her way over to the bucket that had been set up for Melly's part of the cavern. She relieved herself which happened to be much easier than it would have been in a full dress. It was just another reason she was slowly growing fonder of breeches. Just as she was going to wander back to the cot for more rest, she caught noise of voices. She paused, straining to hear a little more clearly of what they were saying. It didn't take her long to catch sound of words "Hound" and "Bitch" and "when to leave" and she could only assume they were talking about both of them. She scooted just a bit closer, suddenly wide awake, but she froze when Melly walked into the secluded area. The woman looked Sansa up and down, clucked her tongue in disapproval and called Sansa over to help her out some more with sorting herbs. Almost reluctant, Sansa wandered back over to her place and pondered over what she had very vaguely overheard.

She tried staying mostly in the same part of the cavern. A few men wandered in and out throughout the week, both for injuries and for their curiosity on how the Hound was doing. For the first five days, he was in and out of unconsciousness. He mumbled feverishly in his sleep and then he'd wake, shouting in pain and anger.

Sansa sat beside him the entire time, soothing him during the worst of it. She felt more useful than she had in weeks. She dabbed at his forehead with a cool, damp cloth when he was extremely fevered. Other times, she tried to help feed him the broth that they received for dinner each night. He struggled the first several times, but when she let him try to feed himself, he ended up wasting most of the broth. She also didn't let him know that she gave him most of her broth as well. He would have been even angrier with her, even though he needed it more than she did so that he could heal faster.

Thankfully, his wound seemed to be healing nicely. There wasn't any sign of rot and by the end of the first week, Melly deemed him safe from infection. She did notice the further in the healing process that his arm would scar just as badly as his face. Sandor seemed to figure this out quick enough and it wasn't difficult for him to completely lose his temper to those around him.

It was clear soon enough they'd be bid out of the camp.

The men were tolerable to Sandor only to the point of him being decent. When the Hound came out, all the more often now, they were short tempered and occasionally didn't even feed him. Sansa gave him all of her food then, despite the fact most of the time she was starved. She couldn't wait to be out of the camp and away from all of the men. She didn't enjoy being surrounded by so many men and feeling so defenseless.

A week and a half after Sandor's battle, Beric Dondarrion finally came to see him. Sansa had been sitting with him, quietly explaining the fact they'd lost most of their supplies. He was fuming, hungry, and just learning that they would be basically poor, except for the few spots in their satchels Sansa had sewed in some coins, as well as in some of his clothes that he'd been wearing. So, when Beric walked in, Sandor glowered at him. When he noticed Sansa tensed and fairly flinched away from his presence, the Hound growled, "The bloody hell did you do to her?"

"Sandor, please," she sighed in exasperation.

"Bloody hells girl, I told you-"

"I can see you're feeling much better than you had a week ago," Beric said after quietly observing their exchange.

"No thanks to you," he spat, turning his glare back on the scarred man. "The fuck you want out of me?"

"I was just coming to let you know we'll have everything ready for you to go this evening. You'll be able to leave a free man."

"I'm taking the fucking girl with me. You fuckers aren't keeping her."

"We have no clue if she has much value-"

Sansa interrupted, "I have no value whatsoever. I've tried explaining this." Indeed it had been an argument between her and Melly for several days. "I'm a lowborn bastard from the Whore's Den. I have no worth any more than my whore mother. And she certainly didn't cost a gold stag for a day." She mentally winced, hating that she had to lie about such things and saying them like it was her own mother!

"The damn girl is staying with me, you fuckers," Sandor growled, starting to rise until Sansa pushed him back.

"You need to stay down and rest until we're leaving." She glanced at Beric, shivering just a bit. He still made her uneasy after rising from the dead. Once Beric had disappeared and they had been alone for some time, Sandor finally looked at Sansa, clearly annoyed. She shrugged and said softly, "I'm not letting them separate us. I don't want to be another bargaining piece to these people."

"You'll be a bloody piece when you get back to your mother and brother," he retorted, still just as quietly as her.

"Maybe, maybe not," she said, smiling softly. She sobered. "You should let me take a look at your wound one last time-"

"Bugger that. You shouldn't have seen it at all."

"If you'd let me treat you-"

"It's better if it kills me now."

She bristled. "Don't say that. I very much like you being alive."

"Don't get why," he muttered, finally resting back against the cot and turning his gaze away from her. She got a good view of his scars, still covered by what hair he had brushed to the side. Her hand itched to brush aside his dirty locks and to touch his face, at least for a moment, but she held back. It would do no good to make him uncomfortable right before they would be on their own again.

So, she stood up. "I'm going to finish getting our packs ready. I'll be back shortly." She hesitated just a moment, waiting to see if he would say anything. When he didn't, she turned and started out towards the main cavern. There weren't many men or women around, as she suspected. Many had been gathered up for the next "scouting" and Beric had headed out after them. It made her plan much easier, as those who were left didn't pay her any attention at all. She slipped into one of their many tunnels, making her way quietly down to their supply area. She'd noticed that usually there had been a guard standing near the entrance of the tunnel to keep guard of what the Brotherhood without Banners had pillaged.

Over and over, Sansa had thought over this plan she was now acting upon. She thought about the situation she and Sandor would be in, from how they could feed themselves to how she could keep Sandor's wound from rotting. There was only one answer; coins. She'd been hesitant about taking coin from them, even if she was just trying to compensate for what Sandor had lost. But the more she thought about it, from her treatment as the Hound's "Bitch" (many took to just calling her that) all the way to who they took money, food, and any valuables from poor families, the more she could justify her actions. While she didn't hate sleeping in the wild (oh that understatement!), she refused to stay outdoors until Sandor's arm was completely healed.

She wouldn't be able to steal back all of Sandor's coin, but as long as they could room in an Inn until they got to Riverrun, Sansa would be happy.

She tried not thinking much past when they reached Riverrun and when she was returned to Mother and Robb. It almost hurt to imagine what it would be like separated from Sandor. Yes, he was a crude, rude and unthoughtful man, but she'd grown fond of him, his personality, and everything she had been able to learn from him. She couldn't imagine being away from him.

She shook her head, focusing on what was in front of her. Once she'd situated the piles so they looked similar enough, she started shoving the sacks into her boots and tested each step to make sure she wouldn't jingle too much. Her boots were so packed full the coins barely made a sound, so she was content enough to try walking into the cavern.

She walked as casually as possible, mindful of every step and tinkle that came from her boots. She thought about humming as she crossed, but afraid that she might draw attention to herself, she decided to keep quiet. Surprisingly, no one seemed suspicious of her in the least, not even the few men that spared her a glance. The only other person she had to worry about once she was back in the healing cave was Melly, who she kept a close eye out for. As she took out the bags of coins, she shoved them into her pack, trying to keep them as quiet as possible. Then she dragged all their bags to Sandor's cot. She kept herself busy organizing the books she'd been allowed to keep (Beric had been kind enough to mention that none of them were worth much value). Sandor seemed to be giving her quite the silent treatment at this point too, when she finished getting the packs together.

Since Melly wasn't there, Sansa didn't have much to do to keep herself busy. The healer woman had been sent out with the scouting party to look for more herbs. They were going through an old town that had been raided earlier by the Lannister army, and the group had high hopes to be able to move in some of the residents as well as collecting up any extra valuables that might have been missed. Melly had high hopes for the new herbs, as well as some new mixing bowls and other people's concoctions.

By the time their final meal rolled around, the Hound would no longer be still. He got up, paced, and cursed. He was suffering the lack of wine immensely, snapping at Sansa for the smallest things, and attempting to break random objects. It took great persuasion before he would even sit down and drink the broth brought to them. She managed to put a little extra broth into Sandor's bowl, ignoring the small voice that protested against the lack of nourishment. 'It will only be for a few more days,' she promised herself, hoping she wasn't lying.

Still, she was grateful to get any food at all from the Brotherhood.

No one came to fetch them until it was well past dark. It was Hotpie who stumbled into the room, hesitant to even be there and eying Sandor suspiciously and with fear. However, when Sansa smiled at him, he came in and stammered out about the horses being ready. Sansa managed all of the packs, waited until Sandor managed off of the cot with little difficulty, and followed Hotpie out. She noticed right away that no one that had been sent out to scout was present, so she assumed they'd yet to return. The group sending them off was small and only two men were holding onto Stranger's and Malia's reigns. She was grateful that she was able to keep her mare that she'd grown fond of in the travels.

As she suspected, the men started taking the bags to strap onto Malia. None of the Brotherhood could get near Stranger aside from taking his reigns. At the beginning of the week, he ended up stomping one of the men to death, so they tried getting Sansa to come near the warhorse. He wouldn't let her go near him for two days, but after no food he reluctant let her come near him. Then it was up to her for the rest of the week to take care of him. Now, she hooked up the other half of the packs onto Stranger, tucking the one with all the clothes and coins as well hidden as possible.

Sandor couldn't use his injured arm very well, so he struggled getting onto Stranger. When she tried helping him, he snapped at her so badly she actually flinched. Reluctantly, she muttered under her breath and got onto Malia. When a few looked ready to protest that she was leaving, the two men holding onto their horses shot them a look that kept them quiet.

Eventually, the ex-knight managed onto Stranger, looking completely drained from that alone. She just hoped they could find a place to stay. She would not stay out in the woods while he still had all those open wounds that could get infected.

Again, sacks were thrown over their heads. The Brotherhood without Banners didn't let either of them walk out by themselves through the water. Riding Malia through the water, with each dip and slip and splash made her nervous, but she just tensed her legs and kept a good grip on the reigns. She could trust her horse not to dump her into the water.

It took quite some time to get out of the water. They must have walked them further downstream than the first time, and by the time they got out of the water, Sansa was chilled to the bone. Then they were walked out another several miles, before the two Brotherhood followers finally stopped them and yanked off the sacks. Despite it being dark out, she still couldn't make any sense of what was in front of her, or even where the followers were at. They slipped away undetected, leaving Sandor cursing them out.

Still, as Sansa looked around, she couldn't help, but grin.

At last, they were free.


	10. Chapter 10: Almost

**Chapter Ten: Almost**

It was pouring rain outside. Sansa Stark certainly hadn't expected the change of weather during the last week. She hadn't thought the rain could be so heavy they could barely see in front of them. Sandor Clegane didn't want to stop riding with the rain, even when Sansa insisted it was a terrible idea for his burns to be out like that. In the beginning, she'd huffed in frustration that he refused to listen to what she had to say, but he'd ended up winning their arguments as usual. She hadn't minded because it was just a light drizzle.

Then it started coming down in buckets.

She was wishing she had insisted more that they stayed in the cavern that they had been sleeping in. The cave had been damp and chilly, but it was nothing compared to the bone-chilling rain that drenched them. Sansa's hair was plastered to her face, so much so she couldn't even keep it pushed out of the way. Her clothes clung to her like a second, extremely uncomfortable skin, and it was more difficult to attempt to ride with the Hound. Still, she couldn't let him ride on Stranger alone. He might insist that he was fine, but she could tell he was still physically exhausted after fighting off that fever nearly a week prior.

She hoped the rain wouldn't aggravate anything or make him sick. She worried very little about herself, even though she'd had very little to eat for several weeks now. It didn't help they had access to so little food ever since the Brotherhood without Banners had stolen what they'd managed to collect. And, with Sandor's burns, it was even more difficult to try to catch any of the animals in the forest. The few times they managed, Sansa ended up having to skin the animals. That certainly ruined whatever bit of appetite she might have had that day. But she refused to let Sandor get near anything bloody with his open wounds.

Now, the rain proved to be the next challenge. It made it extremely difficult to try to walk through the forest with both horses. Several times, Malia ended up slipping, one time down a very steep slope. Even Stranger had a difficult time trampling through the forest so flooded, so they were forced to ride on the Kingsroad out in the open. The road was surprisingly empty, most likely from the rain, but Sansa was still tense. She jumped at the strangest sounds, looked around her continuously, and kept her hand on her sword or a dagger out at all times.

Neither of them spoke much, mostly because the rain was difficult to hear over.

As they made it up the slope, Sandor stopped Stranger suddenly, cursing angrily. Sansa didn't understand at first, but when she looked more closely, she noticed exactly why he was so upset. It was the current river in front of them. The water was at least a mile wide, dark and with currents so strong Sansa knew they'd never cross on their own. After a moment, she managed out loud enough, "Which river will this be?"

"The Trident. Bloody hells, there's no fucking way to cross it with the animals." He cursed again, tugging Stranger's reigns in a different direction. "Fuck, have to take the ferry then." She didn't understand exactly what he was talking about until they'd come down from the Kingsroad and made it into the surrounding village. Or what was left of it anyhow. The Trident had clearly risen far higher than even now, for many of the buildings near the river's edge had been flooded and destroyed.

Sansa caught sight of the large boat, no ferry, sitting near the dock of the Trident. Sansa watched the current beat up against the sides, hard and fast, and asked, "Are you sure it's such a good idea to cross in this weather?"

"Don't got a choice, Little Bird," he grunted, walking Stranger forward towards the dock. "You want to get to your mother and brother before they start moving again?" Reluctantly, she had to admit he was right, so she nodded, ducked her head and kept herself quiet just like he'd told her any other time they might end up running into someone. He walked them up the dock, slipping down off of Strangers as a few men came down from the ferry to meet them.

"What ya'll doin' out in this weather?" one called, eying them both warily. A quick glance at his face told Sansa that he'd figured out exactly who Sandor was, but the man was still studying Sansa. That gave her relief no one seemed to recognize her much, even with her hair growing out and the color fading.

"Need passage 'cross the river," Sandor told him, "Two horses and a girl too."

"Gonna be a gold dragon each," the man replied automatically, quickly eying up Sandor's sword and glancing at Sansa again. She knew it wasn't difficult to spot her sword even under her cloak, so she suspected he was waiting to see if there was a fight that could start up.

"Fuck that, year ago I could buy this boat with a one gold dragon," he spat, glaring at him.

"Maybe a year ago, but times are a'changing. Gotta be able to live these days and with the war and all…"

Sandor growled, but reluctantly bit out, "Fine, we'll give you the coin… after we reach the other side safely."

"No, we get the coin now, then we get you to the other side," the other man challenged. Even being smaller, the Ferryman seemed convinced he could take Sandor, probably because he had the extra men. Sansa was tense, watching through her eyelashes and bangs, to see exactly what might happen. Finally, she cleared her throat, just enough that Sandor could hear her.

He turned his glare onto her, growling lowly. She leaned down close enough that only he would be able to hear her and said softly, "Why not just offer a few coins for now and then the rest later? That way…" His glare told her exactly what he thought of that idea, but she knew otherwise they'd never manage through it. Finally, after staring him down several moments, she raised her head and turned to the Ferryman. "We can offer you three gold coin for the passage of us four. We'll give you two here and the last on the other side when we're safe."

Sandor glared at her heavily, working his teeth together. Finally, he turned his gaze back to her and rasped out, "What you say?"

The men glanced between each other, working over Sansa's offer in their head. Sandor glared at Sansa again, snarling quietly when she gave him a brief smile. Finally, the men muttered their consent, still watching Sandor wearily. It seemed like they expected Sandor to pull out the coin, Sansa was glad when she was the one to dig into her pocket and pulled out the two stags. She tossed them to the ferryman, pleased that she was able to throw good this time.

They were led onto the ferry. Sandor sent Sansa into the closed cabin so she wasn't in danger of going over the rail. She stood inside with Stranger and Malia, drying off in the closed quarters gratefully. She was hesitant as the boat took off, wanted to go out to Sandor. It made her nervous to be separated from him, and with his burns…

As she felt the ferry shudder and begin to move, she peaked open the door and glanced out at the dock. The rain was pelting the wood heavily, making it slippery. Waters slouched up over the railing, again and again, sometimes sweeping a man off of his feet, but usually they managed to catch their footing. The waves caught them again and again, bashing against the side, throwing them in many directions.

Sansa's footing slipped out from under her and she landed on her behind with an "oomph". She muttered as she tried to stand up, but she fell again when they hit another harsh wave. Stranger and Malia stomped around the deck, clearly getting agitated. When they started moving closer and closer to her, Sansa was forced to leave the cabin for the deck instead. She was hit with a wall of water and wind, instantly drenching her all over again. She watched the ferrymen struggling to keep with the current and the wind, Sandor fighting to keep on board and help the men as best as he could, to her surprise.

And then the ferry was hit with the harshest wave of water yet.

It took everyone down, knocking them all off their feet. Most men managed to keep hold of the ropes, but Sansa had nothing to hold onto. She was swept down the deck and when she opened her mouth to cry out, she was drowned by the water. Fear blossomed in her chest. She didn't want to die, not like this.

She needed to…

Suddenly, she could feel the railing as she was slammed up against it, hard. She clung to it, just before she managed to be swept over, coughing and sputtering. She looked up, just in time to hear another man as he was swept over the railing into the water. She watched him struggling through the current, as best as he could until he was swept under. She felt numb.

She wanted to tell herself that the man would resurface further down the river, but she knew in her heart that if he did, he wouldn't be alive. She wanted to cry, but instead she tried to find her footing again before they hit the next wave.

"Fucking hells girl, I told you to stay inside!" Sandor roared suddenly, so close by. When he grabbed hold of her arm, harshly, she clung to him with a small sob.

She managed out, "The horses were getting so agitated and I just didn't know what else to do…"

Sandor leaned close so she could hear him. "You need to stay safe, Little Bird," he rasped out, glancing back at the men furiously working still. "Back inside, stay against a wall. I'll get you as soon as we dock."

"I don't want you getting swept off either," she managed loud enough to be heard.

"Be fine girl," he grunted, walking her back to the cabin with the horses. She went in without a struggle and slumped back against the wall in the corner with a sigh. She pressed her hands into her eyes, fighting the urge to cry, and kept herself to the wall like he'd suggested. It kept her on her feet mostly, despite the fact Stranger and Malia still stomped around and whinnied their dislike as the deck bucked and moved under them.

Finally, after far too long, Sansa felt the boat hit the other bank with a slam, throwing her from the wall to the floor. She waited, to see if they'd move at all anymore. The door to the cabin was thrown open, Sandor looked at her with a scowl and told her to grab the horses. As she walked the horses out, the Ferryman came up to them, looking even less friendly than before. "Want eight gold Dragons, four for the man I lost and then four more for the passage," he spat out.

"You're going to settle for-" Sandor started, but Sansa cut him off.

"That's agreeable," she said, already reaching for the coins in her pocket. But her hands came out empty aside from just two coins. The others must have swept away in the water. She stared at the two coins, murmured, "Oh, I must have lost the others."

She went to reach back into her bag for the rest of the coins, but Sandor interrupted her. "Give him the coin you have. We don't have anymore," he snarled at the man, shoving the ones Sansa handed over to the Ferryman. "Might be we could bring back more later." Sansa wanted to open her mouth to argue, but a quick glance from Sandor told her to keep her mouth shut. She hunched her shoulders and mumbled a small apology about losing the coins.

The Ferryman snarled at them, threatened them, but still, he took what coin the Hound had to offer, and spat at them as Sandor helped Sansa back onto Stranger. He tied Malia back to Stranger and got onto the warhorse. They started off before any of the men could change their minds about letting them off. "We could have given them the coin," she mumbled when they were far enough away.

"Those fuckers are charging too much for a ride on that shitass ferry," he ground out, looking irritated. "We'll stop for the night and then figure out our next plan once we know where your damn Brother and Mother is at."

"We can't just sleep outside tonight," she tested out, waiting to see his reaction.

"There's an Inn just up the road we can stop for the night," he grunted, trying to shove aside his own hair plastered across his face. She nodded and burrowed further down in her dark cloak to fight off a bit of the chill. Her hands still shook a little from nearly falling off the Ferry, but she managed to fight off the worst of it. It was so chilly outside in the rain, she was beginning to doubt either of them could escape without a terrible cold. She kept hunched into herself and tried to keep the worst of the chill at bay. She watched the Kingsroad closely with Sandor to make sure no one would sneak up on them.

Eventually, Sansa spotted an Inn in the distance. It was dimly lit in the shadows and looking pretty run down, but at this point neither of them cared much. Sansa was so exhausted and between the battering of the Ferry and the general soreness from the constant travel she wasn't going to complain one bit. Sandor didn't seem to be fairing much better. While he wouldn't directly complain about being exhausted, he was slumped over far more than usual and resting a good amount of his weight against Sansa. She didn't say anything to him, didn't voice any concerns. She knew he'd snap at her if she did and try to be more stubborn. So she kept silent and let him lean against her as much as he needed.

When they finally stopped outside of the Inn, it was clear they were packed. Sandor's first thought was to keep her outside, but when several people started wandering outside, he thought it better if she stuck close by. So, they got Stranger and Malia put into the stables and Sansa walked ahead of Sandor with her head tucked down. Her hand rested on her sword at all times and she kept one of her daggers at the ready in case they needed to defend themselves. The packs were thrown across Sandor's shoulders.

An Inn Keeper met up with them at the entrance, looking ready to send them off. "Not no more rooms for the night," the man started instantly. Sandor pushed Sansa to the side long enough where they could have a whispered conversation. Sansa was still shivering from the chill outside, but now, she was warming up. She glanced around the room while the Hound and man talked, studying the groups of people around and trying to see if there were any possible threats. So far, no one had noticed them. The men and women were too busy drinking and shouting and laughing to take notice to two quiet people walking into an Inn close at night.

Finally, Sandor handed Sansa all of the bags and told her, "Wait over there," nodding towards an empty table in the far corner. Reluctantly, she headed over there without him, hunching down into her dark cloak. Had her cloak always swallowed her up so much or had she really started losing that much weight? Sure, she hadn't been eating nearly as much, but between the lack of food, wanting to make sure Sandor kept up his strength, and the lack of appetite whenever she had to skin an animal, it made things difficult to really consume food.

She didn't even know the last time she'd actually felt hungry.

The noise in the common was so loud it made Sansa's head hurt. She'd been away from crowds for weeks now; it made it impossible to remember that she'd once enjoyed the loud ruckus and the noise of feasts and plays. A few people played some instruments, others tried to be the jester, and some simply wanted to be around for amusement. Men groped at the women, drank and laughed loudly, and the women squealed and encouraged them.

Few words could be caught between the noises of merrymaking. At some point, one of the kitchen wenches brought over a pile of food for her and Sandor to eat. She looked out for Sandor, but he was still nowhere to be found. She wondered where he could be at. After a moment, she decided to pile a bit of food on her plate, making sure to leave plenty for him, and picked at her food listlessly. She had water that she drank between her small bites.

Eventually, Sandor made his way over, flasks of wine in hand and a much more annoyed look on his face. He sat down with a grunt, pulling the plate of food over without much thought. He dug into the food, telling Sansa between bites, "Got a room for the night. Bath should be ready soon. Got supplies ready for the rest of the trip to Riverrun."

Sansa nodded, murmuring softly "I'll probably try to hear if there's any news about Robb and Mother before heading up."

"No, I don't want you around these cunts. You'll go up and get cleaned up. I'll take care of the rest."

She wanted to argue with him, wanted to say that she could take care of it too. But she bit her tongue and finished up what little food was on her plate. He sent her upstairs with their bags, directing her to the room furthest on the right of the hall upstairs. She waited until she was sure that no one had headed up recently, then made her way up the stairs as inconspicuously as possible. She wandered down the hall as quietly as possible, listening to the grunts and moans of strangers behind doors, the laughing and shouting of children and people alike, and just all the general noise she wasn't used to any longer.

She finally got back to her room, quite a tiny space for both her and Sandor, and noticed two women were in the room, filling up the washtub. The women stopped their chatter the instant Sansa entered the room, but when she pretended to pay them no mind, they went back to their gossip. The room was already decently warm, so she took off her damp cloak and folded it up near the fire to let it air dry better.

Just a she was situating their bags for the night, Sansa caught word of something one of the women were saying, "And I heard that both boys had died."

She froze, straining to hear what they'd say next. They'd dropped their voices to whispers again, but just for the moment. And this was her chance to get something out of some rumors… Rumors certainly weren't reliable in the least, but she wanted to hear something, any sort of news… She turned her attention back to one specific girl, the dark haired one, just as the girl said louder, "None us could believe it 'ere tru'. But I hear from the little whore trampin' round the camp, the King's mum is 'istraught can be."

Which mother was it? Had something happened to Joffrey and Tommen?

She couldn't keep her mouth shut any longer, she turned and asked, "Who was it that got killed?" Both girls froze, staring at Sansa as if they'd just now noticed she was here. Frustrated that they were staring at her like she had appeared out of thin air, she put her hands on her hips and said, trying to sound a bit dumber, "Don't go lookin' at me like I'm an idiot. Ya'll been gossipin' loud as can be. Who is it?"

The blond girl, the much more timid one, stammered out, "O-oh, we 'an't be a sure. Just hearin' 'round about it-"

The other girl finally found her tongue and piped up, looking eager to talk more, "Hera it was the Stark boys! Been 'umors tha' Winterfell been sacked good by the Greyjoys…"

Whatever she had been saying after never reached Sansa's ears. She stared at the girl, hearing only the loud thumping of her heart in her ears. She interrupted the girl, croaking out, "It was Bran and Rickon? They were…"

"Yessus! Least that's what we been hearin'-"

"Get out," she said faintly, feeling sick. When the two hesitated, she shouted, "Get out!" and pulled out her sword for good measure. They scurried out as fast as possible, glancing back at the teary-eyed girl as they left. Sansa paid them no mind, her head was spinning with far too many thoughts…

Sweet little Rickon, all energy and tantrums, running around playing with Shaggydog.

Bran, quickly growing up to be a soldier, suddenly crippled. Waking up and hopefully being able to walk.

All of that was suddenly just gone?

She sobbed, pressing her hand against her mouth. She began to cry, hot heavy tears that soaked down her neck to the lining of her dress. This couldn't be happening. It shouldn't have been possible. Winterfell was safe, they should have been safe. She'd just found out Arya was alive, she couldn't have lost two brothers just after that… "No, no, no," she mumbled, backing away from the steaming tub until she'd bumped into the bed behind her.

They shouldn't have died. They were innocent in all of this.

She should have been the one that was killed. She deserved the worst of punishments.

It was all her fault after all.

She'd killed her father by fluttering off to the Queen. She forced Arya to run off into hiding in the middle of the forest lost and alone. She'd made Sandor a fugitive by coming with her from the Battle, fleeing from the city.

She didn't deserve to be treated kindly. She shouldn't be breathing.

When she finally looked up, she noticed there was a window in the room. She wasn't sure what it was, but the window called for her, beckoned her forward. She stumbled forward, wiping at her eyes and stifling her crying to just sniffles. She pushed open the glass, letting the freezing air and rain into the room. She stared down the darkened roof, down to the ground below.

Her tears had suddenly dried up, the longer she looked down the roof. She thought about Bran, how he'd been injured just from falling, but they'd thought he'd die. Could someone die if they threw themselves off intentionally?

How fitting it would be, if she befell the same fate as Bran.

Driven by the guilt of all she'd done, it didn't take much for her to persuade herself to climb into the window, crouched over, looking at dark ground below. It seemed so much further the longer she stared at it. They were only upstairs. Could it even work? Maybe if she threw herself hard enough…

Just as she'd started to tense her legs, preparing to jump, the bedroom door opened suddenly. Startled, she whipped around, nearly falling out the window as she slipped on the ledge. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?!" Sandor shouted, coming for her so suddenly she had no time to react when he wrenched her down from the window.

His touch brought her back down to reality so quickly it nearly crushed her. It just all hurt so much, she started crying again. She didn't really know what to do, whether to be angry Sandor had grabbed her so suddenly or to feel worse that she was going to throw herself to her death. So, instead, she stood there, covering her face with her hands. Sandor didn't seem to take pity on her in the least, he grabbed hold of her shoulders and shook her, growling, "Did you think it was a good idea to kill yourself? Throw yourself off the roof and break your pretty little neck? Or were you just thinking you could fly like a bird? What the fuck were you thinking?!"

His shouting gave her enough courage to manage out, "Bran and Rickon… They were both…" But she started sobbing before she could finish her sentence. She stumbled away from him, more ashamed than ever before and let herself slip down onto the floor.

"Little Bird," she heard him rasp, heard him walk across the room to her. She fairly cringed away from his touch when he touched her shoulder. She tried moving away from him, shaking her head, trying to tell him in some way she didn't deserve any kindness at all. But he took hold of her, pulled her to his chest in what was probably supposed to be a comforting embrace. It made her sick to think someone thought she deserved this. She tried to push him away, sobbing and smacking on his chest, but after a while, she dissolved into his arms and cried quietly while he took her to the bed.

It wasn't fair to anyone that she was one of the last Stark children still alive. She should have been the first ones to die…

She didn't know when it was, but eventually she managed to fall asleep amid all of the emotional turmoil.

**~A/N~**

**I'm so glad I have been able to start working on these chapters again. I've been trying over and over to get everything just right. And for a bit there, I'd written out almost three chapters only to realize it followed the show more than the books! So, of course, I've had to go back and rewrite these chapters all over again.**

**On another note, there's things about Sansa I feel need to be explained. Yes, I made her think about suicide. I made her seem more vulnerable than the books ever really touched on. But thinking about it, I feel she needed to have this breakdown, because she's gone through so much. And she no longer has to hide herself quite so much as she had with Joffrey. So I believe she could have thought about this. Hopefully, it was not offensive to anyone reading it or too out of character!**

**Thanks for reading!**

**R&amp;R**

**XmX**


	11. Chapter 11: The Wedding

**Chapter Eleven: The Wedding**

As much as Sansa wanted to just stop moving and just lay there, the Hound had other plans. And she meant the Hound. Because when she first didn't want to get up that next morning, still crying about what had happened to her brothers, he totally snapped on her. He yelled at her for a good long while, until she was so startled she wasn't crying anymore. When she'd sniffled, he stated heatedly, "Don't start with that fucking self-pity! What's done is done, you fucking take it. Learn from your fucking mistakes."

She'd grown mad, so much so that she finally said, "Well, you should have just left me at King's Landing! It would have been more appropriate if I'd been left with the King, at least he'd have killed me for being such a stupid girl!"

The look on his face when she'd said that would scare anyone. He'd gotten so close to her she could smell everything about him. He'd snarled so lowly, growled at her, "Don't ever fucking say you want to be back with that cunt King. If I ever hear you say that again…"

He'd scared her so bad, she'd started shaking. She managed out, "I'm sorry." But she couldn't look at him directly in the eye anymore.

"Look at me, Little Bird," he'd rasped, his voice suddenly softer. Reluctantly, she peeked up at him. He no longer looked so furious, in fact he looked at her like she was an equal for the first time. He continued, "Don't let what has happened crush you down. You're a fucking wolf, whether or not you remember you're from the North. Take the cunts down that killed your family and have your revenge. Don't fucking try to end yourself because you feel like taking all the blame."

'_You're a wolf.'_

It was then that she'd realized she'd forgotten who she was inside. Yes, she'd lost Lady so long ago, she still ached for her Direwolf to be beside her. But she could still take strength from her. Sansa nodded, slowly. No longer would she be the pathetic bird of King's Landing. She'd take hold of her name, her sigil, and become the strength that she knew she would need for the future.

"_Winterfell had been sacked good by the Greyjoys."_

It had to have been Theon. She didn't understand why he would suddenly leave Robb's side and turn on Winterfell so quickly, but she found at this point she didn't care. She had a new set of goals in mind once she found her mother; she had a taste for revenge. She would take Sandor's advice, let her plans brood under the surface until she had her chance.

She pulled herself together long enough to clean herself up, packed up whatever few loose items they might have. Sandor took the time to gather up a bit of food from the Inn Keeper and he had her pack that up too. Sansa insisted on stopping and taking a quick look at Sandor's burns, despite the fact he'd yet to let her look at them in the time they'd been traveling anyways. To her surprise, he reluctantly consented. She had him sit down, sat beside him, and had his injured arm lying across her lap as she took a close look at the wound. The burns were looking healthier, less raw and angry red. He had definite scarring, but she thought it didn't look quite as bad as it could. There was no smell of rot. Overall, she was pleasantly surprised that his arm was staying so healthy.

She looked up at him through her bangs and gave him a small smile. "It looks like you're going to live," she told him, rewrapping the leaves he'd had over the burns.

He grunted in response, standing up and turning towards the warhorse. "Come on, Little Bird," he told her impatiently. She got to her feet and let him help her onto Stranger. He kept the warhorse mostly still as she swung up into the saddle with little difficultly and only with the little bit of help. She didn't want him to do too much until after his arm was healed up. He got up behind her and, with a flick of the reigns, they started off once again.

Sansa noticed almost instantly Sandor seemed to have changed their course. Normally, he headed straight into the forest until he felt as if they were deep enough in they wouldn't run into anyone. But instead, he had started off barely in the forest, continuing to follow straight on the Kingsroad. She waited quite some time before she finally asked, "Why are we heading in a different direction? Usually, we went further in towards Riverrun."

"… Your brother and Mother won't be at Riverrun any longer," he muttered eventually.

Sansa twisted around enough to look at him, eyes wide. "What do you mean? Are they marching somewhere else again?"

"No. There's quite a bit your brother has done in the weeks after Blackwater Bay." She listened intently as Sandor told her everything he'd learned in the short while he'd been downstairs. Men were very chatty when drunk, apparently. And up North, where Robb was from, he was quite popular indeed. The story Sandor had heard was quite the interesting one. Her Mother had apparently arranged a marriage, not only between Robb and one of the Frey women, but also Arya as well. Robb had agreed to the terms, but shortly after, he'd apparently taken a wife, Lady Jeyne Westerling. Sansa could faintly remember the Westerling House; they certainly were not powerful enough for Robb to completely break ties with the Frey. Sandor finished off his tale with, "Your dumbass brother offered Lord Edmure as a peace offering to try to placate with Lord Frey. The idiot Lord agreed, but…"

"You don't think that's his only endgame, do you?" she voiced quietly, suddenly strained.

"No, it isn't. What he plans to do, I can't be sure," he muttered.

Sansa chewed on her bottom lip and asked, "Is it possible that he'll just embarrass Robb? Or do you think he'll…?" The word _kill _was left unsaid.

"Can't be sure," he grunted. "No use worrying about it. If rumors were right, they should barely make it to the Twins before us. Can stop them before they head in there." Sansa nodded, burying herself further into her cloak and staring out ahead with a thoughtful expression. Eventually, she bowed her head and began to pray, to the old gods and the new, asking each to protect what was left of her family. She tried to keep them moving as fast as possible, urgent to try to reach her mother and brother before they stepped foot into the Twins.

Sandor kept them moving, but he didn't try to push the horses too far past their limit. They stopped very little, ate as they rode, and continued pushing further North as quickly as Sandor felt comfortable. Sansa found she'd lost whatever little appetite she might have had. She tried to keep it to herself when she cried, kept it to the first night. During the day, she smiled at Sandor, chirped extra brightly, and, even though he looked at her like he really didn't believe she was okay, she could pretend well enough.

It was part way through their second day that Sansa began to sneeze.

Within hours, Sansa started feeling stuffed up, in her nose, face, and even her chest. She began to cough by the end of that night. The morning after, she started a fever. Sandor cursed her and the weather, stopped at the next Inn he managed to spot, and got her settled into a bed. She argued with him, put up as good of a struggle as she could, but the longer she was coughing and stuffed up, the weaker she got. She could hardly struggle as Sandor fed her a bit of the Milk of Poppy. It took very little to knock her out.

When she woke up again, there was a pile of food on the bedside table, some stew, bread, fruits, and extra dried meat. Sandor had a large fire burning, heating up the room several degrees. She felt like she was sweating through all of her sheets. She was still coughing and sneezing and she just felt down right terrible. She managed down all of the stew and drank as much water as she could handle before she lay down to sleep again.

She woke up a couple more times, at random intervals. Some of it, Sandor was there, other times she was alone. She ate when Sandor was there to force her, but when she was alone, she barely nibbled on the food. She coughed and wheezed and her nose ran, so Sandor gave her more Milk of the Poppy when she couldn't sleep easily. The nighttime and daytime blended together, so she couldn't be sure exactly what day it was whenever she did wake up.

Sandor was antsy, continuously moving, checking on her, waiting for that time when her fever cleared up. She went from feeling so hot to suddenly freezing, shivering in the night and eventually asking Sandor to lie with her so she wouldn't freeze so much. He'd been hesitant, had snapped at her. She hadn't really asked for him to lie with her since being caught by the Brotherhood. She didn't want to bother him with a recovering injury and then the other times she'd been on horseback when she'd fallen asleep so it had been near impossible until now. But now she felt like she needed the warmth, so she asked him again. She didn't even think about the fact it might be bad for him to be exposed to such sickness. He was very reluctant to lie with her, which she didn't quite understand. He hadn't had a problem with it beforehand. Still, she didn't have the energy to dwell on it too much, so as soon as he'd laid down, she snuggled up to him and let herself fall back asleep again.

A nightmare and a sense of foreboding woke her up this last time. Still, she was feeling much better. Sandor was gone, but, as usual, he kept a pile of food by her bedside table. She forced down what food she could stomach, packed up the rest and she started downstairs slowly, keeping her head tucked down. She felt lightheaded still and a bit weak, but she made herself move. There was no way she'd get better otherwise.

Sandor seemed quite surprised to see her up and moving when she sat down in front of him. She had all the bags in hand and was dressed up and ready to go. "When do you think you'll be ready?" she asked, keeping her voice lower than usual.

"The hell you doing out of bed, Little Bird?" he growled, glaring at her.

"I'm feeling fine," she said, sniffling a bit. "I'm not going to get any better just lying around." She sneezed and mentally scolded herself for not sounding healthier.

"Get back upstairs-"

"No!" she interrupted. "We're either heading out later this morning or else I'll go on without you." She remembered what she'd been dreaming about, of blood and fire and a sense of betrayal. She couldn't bring any pictures to mind, but she certainly could remember everything that she'd felt.

Sandor glared at her, working his teeth before he bit out, "Fine. Get the horses ready." She nodded, standing up and taking the bags with her outside. Thankfully, the dining area had been relatively cleared out still, with few people to take notice of her. Outside, the weather seemed to have improved greatly, shining down on her and warming her skin. The air was hot and heavy and muggy, but she found it didn't matter. Anything was better than being trapped in that room any longer.

Stranger snapped at her the moment she tried to tie anything to his saddle. With a huff, she turned to Malia and put all the packs onto her saddle. Her and Sandor would just have to ride together a bit longer. She walked Stranger outside first. He snapped at her, stomped his hooves and struggled until she tugged on his reigns. They stopped, her staring at his dark face and straight into his dark eyes. For several moments, they stared each other down, him whinnying at her and stomping his feet. She felt as if they began to connect, like she was being drawn right into him…

"What are you doing?"

Sandor's voice, low and almost threatening, broke the contact and drew her attention directly to him instead. She felt light headed again, and it took several moments of her blinking before she realized exactly that she was in fact staring and not saying a word. She managed out, "I'm sorry, what was that?"

"What do you think you're doing, staring down that warhorse? He'll break your neck if you keep doing that."

"I-I just don't know," she stammered out. Honestly, she had no clue what she had been thinking. She turned from him, suddenly embarrassed and went back for Malia without a word. When she brought her horse out, she tied her to Stranger's saddle and explained quickly, "Stranger wouldn't let me put any of the packs on…"

"Come here," he grunted already, loosening his grip on the reigns and wrapping his large hands around her waist. He lifted her up into the saddle without a complaint and got up behind her right after.

Riding a horse after being sick for several days was exhausting. Within the hour, she was slumped back against Sandor, attempting to keep herself awake. He grumbled and told her to sleep a bit longer, and even though she struggled against his initial suggestion, she eventually let her eyes slide shut for just a moment.

The jolting of Stranger woke her continuously, but she managed to doze back off in between. Sandor made sure to keep her awake long enough to eat a bit of food and to drink quite a bit of water. He snapped at her when she attempted to brush off any extra food or drink and forced her to finish what he had given her originally. Then they were moving again, as fast of a pace as the horses could handle.

They didn't stop riding into the night. Sandor pushed them further and faster than before. It made her wonder just how long she'd been out for. They'd had the time before she'd gotten sick, but if he was pushing this quick now, she imagined they'd wasted good days trying to let her recover. She didn't dare open her mouth to ask and he didn't try to speak to her.

The days started going by in a similar fashion. Sandor was forced to slow down the horses when Malia fairly collapsed from exertion. They only stopped long enough to let the horses eat a bit and get a good drink. Sandor had her eat some dried meat and fruit while they rested and ate a little bit himself. Her eyes closed on her periodically and she couldn't always keep track of exactly what time of the day they were on.

Soon enough, Sandor kept them strictly to the Kingsroad. He wouldn't explain himself right away, snapping at her whenever she tried to question what he was doing. She settled for a frustrated silence and kept her mind focused on what the reunion with Robb and Mother would be like. It gave her such a warm feeling in her chest and brought a light back to the days she knew had been lacking before.

It was early several mornings later that Sandor finally stopped Stranger. They'd been talking, arguing, about the plan to get into the Twins without being recognized. Sandor had spotted the wagon first. He stopped both horses, gruffly told Sansa to stay back, and started towards the traveler. Sansa waited, holding tightly onto Stranger's reigns. The warhorse started following Sandor and, when Sansa attempted to stop him a bit with a light tug, he snapped at her and continued forward. She hated it when Sandor left her on Stranger alone.

Then she noticed the Hound had stopped the wagon and had pulled the man down from his seat. Sansa managed down off of Stranger, angry that Sandor would suddenly turn on a man like that. She started to run when she noticed he pulled his sword out of his sheath. She grabbed hold of his arm before he could take a swing and fairly shouted, "What do you think you're doing?!"

He snarled at her in response, snapping, "Are you trying to get your arm cut off? I'm fucking handling our problem, don't interfere!"

"You can't just kill an innocent man! He-he- just ask him for help!"

"Do you want to get to that damn wedding tonight or not?! It's fucking starting today, we don't have fucking time to think of some other _righteous_way you approve of," he spat, glaring heavily at her.

"You could do more than just shoving him to the ground and cutting him open! You could ask," she replied heatedly, shoulders tense.

The stranger, an older man was watching them with a guarded expression, as if he couldn't decide what he believed. Sansa, after staring Sandor down for several moments, finally turned to the man. She crouched down in front of him, giving him her sweetest smile and said as politely as she'd always been taught, "Sir, I apologize for my companion's harsh and irrational behavior. I just have a favor to ask. I need to get to the Frey wedding, tonight. All I ask is that we can borrow your wagon for the trip there and back. I promise we will return it and reimburse you for the time you lost it."

For several tense moments, the man stared at Sansa, working his mouth. Then suddenly he spat, right in her face and fairly screamed, "I not no idiot. Not gonna hand over my wagon for no whore or traitor, you fucking cunt!" He got to his feet so suddenly, shoving Sansa to the ground.

Immediately, Sandor had him by the throat, lifting the frail man from the ground and growling fiercely. Sansa didn't hear what he was saying, so stunned by the actions she was left sprawled to the ground and completely at a loss for what to say. She watched Sandor threaten the man, shake him good, and eventually setting the man back on his feet. She didn't say a word when he punched the man in the face, nor when Sandor kicked him to the ground and used to his boot to nail the man, once, twice in the ribs. She should have cared as the man bled on the ground, as Sandor beat him, and eventually knocked the old man unconscious.

But she couldn't say a word. She was so stunned by the man's actions.

She'd been a perfect lady, polite and kind. Yet, he still knocked her to the ground, as if she'd threatened to kill him. Did no one have any decency now? She didn't know how to feel any longer. Sansa finally took a look at the situation in front of her and was shocked to see Sandor half naked and the man below stripped of most of his clothes. He'd only used the man's cloak for himself, which was just the right size, but he still had taken the rest of the man's clothes. He surprised Sansa by shoving them into her arms.

"Put those on," he rasped, cutting loose the man's horses he'd been using for the wagon.

She almost opened her mouth to argue, but then she remembered the way the man had looked at her, had treated her, and reluctantly slipped off into the tree line for a bit of cover. She pulled off the blue dress she'd been wearing, slipped on the large tunic and reluctantly changing out her breeches. She folded hers as best as she could as she walked back to Sandor. He'd unstrapped all of their packs, thrown them into the cart, and dragged the man into the ditch. Sansa stepped past him, feeling a bit sick when she saw all the blood. But she didn't stop and kept moving towards the wagon again. Malia and Stranger were both being strapped up to the wagon, even if the warhorse kept biting at the mare. Eventually, Sandor growled at Stranger and said a few words to the dark horse. That seemed to keep him from nipping at the mare again.

Sandor threw a straw headwear to Sansa before she could react and told her, "Put that on. Gonna sit in the back, keep your head down, and keep quiet. Don't say a thing to no one. You've had that problem in the past, don't wanna be dealing with it now. And don't fall off."

Reluctantly, Sansa nodded, putting on the headwear and clambering into the back. She watched as he climbed in the seat up front, adjusted his own headwear, took up the reigns, and started up the horses. The wagon lurched forward so suddenly, it almost knocked Sansa right off her behind, but she managed to hold on for the bumpy ride. After all the horseback riding, she had to admit it was much smoother than riding in the wagon. Still, she knew she couldn't complain and that it was less suspicious for her to be in the wagon rather than on horseback. So, she settled down into the corner and kept herself low.

Glancing up front at Sandor, she noticed he'd been fidgeting with his tunic and the cloak, looking uncomfortable. It was then she realized he'd taken off his armor. Brows furrowing, she wondered just where he'd put it. Still, she had to smile because it was rare that she ever saw him looking so out of place. It made her think about him. More importantly, she thought of what he'd done for her. He certainly was not the "Prince" she had envisioned as a child, nor did he look like the Prince Charming from the storybooks she'd read. Yet, he still had been there for her, had treated her like an prince would, unlike the so called "knights" of King's landing. He'd even rescued her from her tower of imprisonment. He was almost ideal.

It was too bad she didn't think he'd ever want her.

Wait.

She blinked, once, twice. Then she started to blush, just enough that it was clear she was embarrassed. Had she…? Had she just thought that she could possibly want him? She shook her head. That was insane. He was older than her! Far too old and… and cruel… mean. Honest. Open with her. He helped her find her footing as the Wolf of Winterfell.

She sighed softly, leaning her chin into her open palm. Maybe it was time just to worry about how she could keep him from running off to the Free Cities without her. The rest she could figure out later.

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Actually riding up to the Twins was the most unnerving. She'd been so bored the hours before, fidgeting and unable to direct her thoughts very far from Sandor. She didn't dare think about what it was going to be like meeting with Robb and Mother again. She tried thinking of Cersei, of what the Queen Regent might be attempting to do to find them. Shouldn't they have been scouring the land to find her, searching everywhere, high and low, to find her location? Should have looked into the forests even, to try to find her?

Maybe no one had connected their disappearance with the Hound.

But those thoughts didn't last long. They turned back to Sandor and that was all she could focus on.

At least, until the Twins were in sight. She was on her knees, to get as good of a view as she could as the wagon was pulled up to the bridge. The towers were huge structures, with high curtain walls and deep moats. She remembered her teachings that the towers also had a barbican and portcullis in each, but she wasn't able to see them at the moment. As Sandor started the wagon onto the stone bridge, she could spot the moats dug around the towers. That made it more like an island around each tower, she remembered reading.

Sandor, glancing back at her, glared suddenly and growled low, "Get down girl." She ducked down immediately and made sure that her hair was as tucked up into her headwear as she could get it.

In the next instant, she heard a voice, shouting, "Halt!" The wagon shuddered to a stop, fairly throwing Sansa into the walls of the wagon. For the most part, she managed to keep herself straight. She kept her head tucked low, huddled down in the packs, and tries to act as defenseless as possible. She just hoped they hadn't noticed her fairly gawking at the structures. Glancing up quickly, she noticed Sandor kept his head ducked low as well, keeping his face shadowed and almost unrecognizable. She could hear a couple men walking up, but she didn't dare look up to see who they might be. "What are you doing here? Who the stupid boy you got with you?"

"Pardon me, milord," she heard him mumbled, sounding so much more different than her fierce Hound. "We were sent to bring some pork for the Wedding Feast tonight. Boy helpin' me haul tonight. Got a bad knee milord."

"Little late to be sending in meat, isn't it? The weddin'll be finishin' up shortly," another man sneered.

"I don't question milady's orders, milord," he continued in that strange voice of his. It made Sansa shift a bit, uncomfortable with the change. She kept a firm grip on one dagger.

"The hell did you get that horse from anyhow?" the first man questioned, sounding suspicious. She risked a glance up to notice they were checking out the dark warhorse.

"Weddin' gift for the Lord Edmure and Lady Roslie from milady herself."

"Which Lady this be from?"

"Lady Whent, milord."

The men snorted, "She hoping this'll win her Harrenhal 'gain?" One of the men spat. "Fine, gone on through."

"Many thanks, milord." The men stepped aside. With a flick of the reigns, Sandor started them forward again and away from the men. Sansa glanced up at them as they passed, but not one of them looked back at her. Her eyes widened in recognition of several men standing there.

She scooted until she was right by Sandor and whispered, "Isn't that the man you knocked down at the tourney? Ser…"

"Donnel Haigh," Sandor grunted in response, glancing at her.

"How didn't he recognize you? I would have thought-"

"You use enough pretty words and grovel at their feet and no one pay you any mind," he retorted, spatting. "Idiots."

"I would have thought they'd be looking for you… Unless… Do you think they didn't connect our disappearances together?" For a brief moment, a swell of hope formed in her chest.

"They probably think you were grabbed in the middle of the fray. Can't promise they aren't lookin' for you, Little Bird."

Still, that gave her a bit of hope that they had gotten away clean. She settled down in the wagon beside Sandor and told him, "You have no idea how much I appreciate you bringing me here." He grunted in response, barely glancing down at her. She catches that his shoulders are unusually tense, but decides not to dwell much on it for now. She's suddenly so eager to be back with her family. When she noticed how close they were to the towers, she stood up, wobbling a bit from the unsteady wagon. Just as she reached the edge, she called over her shoulder, "I'm going to go look for the entrance!"

She hopped off, just as Sandor was halting the wagon, calling after her and cursing. She ignored him, running, too eager to heed his words. She could find him afterwards when Robb and Mother knew she was okay. She started towards the pavilions, where she could see the Stark men feasting. The darkness had just started to descend, filling the field with dancing shadows and looming blackness. Thinking more clearly, she figured that the King of the North and the Mother would most likely be in the East Tower. So she steered herself out of the largest of the crowd to find the entrance to the East Tower. It was as she started passing the stables that she heard the howl.

Immediately, she froze. Because she recognized that howl.

She'd heard it in her dreams and in life, before King's Landing.

It was Grey Wind. It had to be.

She turned from her main focus and started into the horse stables. They weren't guarded, but that didn't make her any less suspicious. She pulled her sword out from her breeches, tucked in between the two, and took a cautious step into the building. She could tell each of the horses in the stable were agitated, stomping and whining and shuffling about as best as they could. She peeked into each stall as she, knew that she had to be close. Then, she noticed the man standing at the far stall, a bow in hand. She could hear the growl suddenly, the snapping of teeth. She ran to the man without thinking, her only thought to protect Grey Wind. She tried to sneak up on him as quietly as possible, but he must have heard her. The stranger spun around, arrow already notched, and let loose, just as her sword came down on him. She cut him from neck to belly, not deep enough to get her sword stuck, but effective all the same. She must have gotten his neck good, for he began to gush red everywhere.

Then she felt the burning sensation of the arrow, buried directly into her shoulder. She cried out, fairly dropping her own sword and wincing when she took a good grip of the hilt. Her shoulder burned, throbbed, and bled, but she made herself walk forward, stepping over the body of the stranger. The yellow eyes of the dark wolf stared back at her. He was tied back in the stable with some chain, although it looked as if he'd tried to chew through it anyway.

His hackles raised for just a moment, his lip curled back. But then Sansa said softly, "Grey Wind, it's me." She offered out her hand for him to smell. He lifted his muzzle, taking a good whiff of her hand. Slowly, he dropped back his ears and whined in greeting. His tail gave her a small wag. She smiled at the wolf, telling him, "I'm going to get this chain off of you and then we'll leave." She couldn't help, but run her hand through his fur, feeling the familiar soft fur of the direwolf.

Thankfully, it didn't take much to free him. The throbbing in her shoulder had creeped further up her neck and into her head, but she pushed aside the feeling until Grey Wind was free. He'd hopped up immediately and, although he looked ready to run, he waited until Sansa had gotten to her feet again before he ran off. She wanted to go after him, but the pain in her shoulder got worse. She tried to press her hand as best as she could over the wound, but she could feel the blood trickling down her shirt. When she shifted the shaft of the arrow, it sent a sharp pain through her arm, side, and neck and left her feeling nauseous.

She tried to walk forward as best as she could, her hand pressed against her shoulder and the sword dragging across the ground. She tried to lift it as best as she could, but each movement just got worse and worse. That was when she heard the clash of steel outside, and the shouting. She forced herself to move faster, picking up her pace, ignoring the pains throbbing from her shoulder.

She almost wished she'd stayed in the stables, because outside was chaos.

The pavilions she'd passed to get closer to the towers had all collapsed. Fire was everywhere, engulfing people, fabric, and wood as if it was nothing. She could spot out the different sigils, the Frey, Northmen, and the lower houses. They were all clashing together, those that had been outside of the pavilions and some who'd been inside. But she didn't pay attention to any of this. All she could think of was Robb and Mother. She tried to run towards the East Tower, to try to help out in whatever way she could. She couldn't be useless-

Then the men had spotted her, a whole group of them with horses and swords and shields. It was clear they could tell she wasn't a boy, by the way they leered at her and some looked at her. She couldn't hear what one man said among the chaos, as she looked around for her best escape to help. It didn't take a genius to figure out what they'd said, for one man broke off from their group to get her. She raised her sword as best as she could with her left hand, already feeling so opposite. She could hardly use her sword well with her good hand, and to take on a…

Someone shouted suddenly, so close and nearby that it scared them both. It was so loud it could be heard over the clashes of steel and chaos. She couldn't make out what it was to begin with, until she watched all the men around get hacked down. While she was distracted, the man who'd come to take her on lunged. She screamed, squeezed her eyes shut, and lifted up her sword as best as she could.

She could feel the cut of the blade on her flesh, but the sword halted so suddenly, it startled her. Her eyes flew open and all she was staring at was the red neck of the man, with a sword through it. When she looked up, she was greeted by the sight of the Hound, bloodied and holding onto the dead man. She stepped aside, fairly sobbing with relief. The men that had been around her were all dead. He yanked his sword clean through the man's neck, dropped the corpse to the ground and fairly screamed at Sansa, "The fucking hell do you think you're doing?! Do you want to get yourself killed? I'm supposed to be fucking protecting you, not letting you run off into a group of men that will rape and butcher you like a pig!" He grabbed hold of her fairly shaking her, but she didn't care.

She bit down on her tongue to keep from moaning about the pain, whimpering and mumbling, "We should get to Robb and Mother."

"You aren't fucking going anywhere," he said heatedly, looking angrier. He let go of her good arm and yanked her towards Malia.

"Stop!" she fairly sobbed, feeling as if her arm was being ripped off. He did just that, startled by her outburst. It was then he noticed the blood soaking her tunic and the shaft sticking out. He cursed good, looking even more furious. Still, he was gentle as he hoisted her up onto her mare and swung up after her. She was suddenly so lightheaded…

He was attempting to get them out of there as quickly as possible. Men came to try to cut them down. Sandor swung as best as he could, ignoring as he got cut up, once, twice, three times. Sansa felt someone hit her once, in the leg, but it was Malia's sudden snort of pain that concerned her more. But whenever she tried to move, she got so dizzy it was impossible to do much of anything.

She tried to shout at Sandor to go to the East Tower, to go after Robb and Catelyn. He smashed her against his chest when she started to yell at him for leaving. "They're fucking dead!" he screamed back at her. She did her best to shove away from him as he continued through the crowds of dying men. He clamped his free hand over her mouth when she continued to yell. She sobbed as best as she could in the situation, clawing at Sandor's hand. She had to do something. She needed to help.

Then she could hear the chanting, the curses, and the sudden laughter. At first, she couldn't hear what they were saying, everything was so loud. When she managed to push Sandor's hand away, she could hear everything so clearly. Too clearly.

"_HERE COMES THE KING OF THE NORTH!"_

Again and again, she could hear the chanting, but she couldn't spot the source. Not at first, anyway. When she heard Sandor curse and suddenly try to keep her from looking, she knew he saw what was going on. And it wasn't good.

She shoved his hand away from her, long enough that she could get a decent look behind her.

And she saw Robb, for the first time in ages.

She could still see what he looked like before she'd left for King's Landing so long ago.

Could see how she imagined him as he grew up a fighter, leading the rebellion all the way to King's Landing.

Could picture what he looked like and how happy he would have been to be married.

Oh how she'd always imagined what it would be like the first time they'd see each other after being gone for so long.

But now, _now_ she could see exactly what he looked like when he died.

Butchered, bleeding, like he was nothing more than an animal.

His head was separated from his body, shoved onto a spike and walked around like a trophy. The body, what was left of it, held what Sansa imagined would have been Grey Wind's head had she not freed him. Now, his shoulders held the head of some poor hound that was butchered for the Frey's amusement.

Sansa stared, horrified for that brief moment she saw Robb. Then Sandor was covering her face, pressing her much more gently against his chest, just as she started to scream.

**~A/N~**

**I'm so glad for a slow week at work! It made writing this chapter so much more smoother and quicker! Hopefully everyone enjoys this chapter, it took quite a lot of brain power to complete!**

**Thank you for reading!**

**R&amp;R**

**XmX**


	12. Chapter 12: Aftermath

**Chapter Twelve: Aftermath**

She wasn't sure where she was when she first woke up. The sun was beginning to peak over the horizons. She was lying underneath an oak tree, on her back in the stolen wagon. For a brief, blissful moment, she forgot everything that had happened. That was, until she shifted and her shoulder began to burn. When she lifted her head enough, still wincing, she noticed the arrow was still buried into her. She groaned in pain, letting her head fall back down against the cloth she was resting on.

Sandor appeared at that moment in her peripheral vision. She turned her head enough to see that he had a pile of items in his arms; cloths, wine, and wrappings. When he set all of that down beside her, she saw the needle and thread in hand. "Where are we?" she managed out, voice cracking.

He looked over at her, his face serious. "We're far away from that bloody place," he rasped, reaching down to grab a bottle and crouching down beside her. "You'll want the Milk of the Poppy, Little Bird. This will hurt a lot."

"You're going to pull it out."

"Aye. Now drink it."

She shook her head and told him, "I'll wait until afterward." She tried to sit up, fighting off the wave of nausea that took her.

"Stay down," he ordered gruffly, reluctantly setting the bottle down. "This is gonna hurt like a bitch. The arrow didn't go all the way through, so when I pull it out, the shoulder will shred from the arrowhead."

She nodded her head again, relaxing her neck as best as she could and gripping onto a cloth beside her. "Do it and get it over with," she whispered, squeezing her eyes shut. When he took hold of the shaft, she took her bottom lip between her teeth and began to gnaw on it. Every jolt and shift sent waves of pain through her whole right side.

"I'll pull on the count to three," he told her after a moment, getting his grip just right and gently pressing down on her shoulder enough where he wouldn't rip it up with the arrow. She sucked in her breath, waiting for him to count. But then he yanked as hard as possible. She fairly screamed in pain, fighting the urge to be sick. She could feel as the arrowhead ripped back through, catching once as he managed it out. He twisted once, then pulled one last time, finally freeing the arrow. She almost blacked back out again. Sandor had to call to her twice before she could focus enough to hear him say, "Press this against the wound." She did as he told her, hands shaking. The wound throbbed when she applied pressure, but she ignored it and waited for him to return.

He came back, a small bowl in hand. She knew exactly what that was and almost cringed at the thought of boiling wine. It hurt so badly against her cheek… He must have noticed the look on his face, for he told her, "Stay down." She stilled immediately and watched as he tipped the steaming bowl of wine into her wound. She did scream this time, the liquid so scalding she couldn't imagine that there had been anything else ever in her shoulder. This time, she was unable to keep conscious and fell back into the blackness.

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It had to have been around midday when she woke again. This time it was the wagon jolting underneath her, catching holes and rocks with its wheels occasionally. She managed up enough where she could slump against the side of the wagon. Thankfully, she had Sandor's thick white cloak wrapped around her, because the tunic she'd been wearing had been ripped at the shoulder. There were wrappings pressed against her shoulder, covering up the stitches she was sure Sandor had done. She moved the wrapping just enough to take a peek at her shoulder. There wasn't much for a wound, a small jagged wound that stretched less than an inch. There were only three stitches. But still, it throbbed and ached. It made her wonder what Robb and her Mother…

Her thoughts froze on her instantly. Because that was right, her mother… and Robb…

She had to throw herself against the side of the wagon as she began to heave, attempting to keep the puke out of the cart and just to the ground below. The Hound must have heard her instantly, for he stopped the cart, got out and walked up to her. She couldn't look at him. She just started to sob. "Fucking hells girl, what's the matter?" he snapped, looking irritated, as he helped her settle back into the wagon. Her entire family was gone. She was alone. She had no one. How could she begin to explain that?

He grabbed hold of her, shaking her and growling, "Look at me."

She couldn't look at him, couldn't raise her eyes. She barely managed out, "I'm all alone now. They're dead. They're all dead." It was all she could say. It was all she could remember so clearly now. It came back to her, every horrifying detail. She remembered seeing Robb, butchered and bleeding and dishonored with the head of a hound on his shoulders. She could see all the death, the man that came after her and Sandor as she kept screaming. She just hadn't been able to stop. And when he'd cradled her head to his chest, trying to keep her as quiet as possible, she saw something else she never wanted to see. She'd seen the body as it was drug across the ground, slumped down between three men. She'd watched as they lifted her and threw her down into the Trident. In the light, she swore she could see exactly who it was; Catelyn Stark. Before she could say anything, he'd finally clamped a hand over her mouth, silencing her and cutting off her ability to breathe. She'd struggled as best as she could, until she'd blacked out.

Now here she was. Alone. So utterly alone, with no one to come home to. She clung to Sandor, fairly sobbing. He didn't say another word to her, let her cry against him and fall into the grief that had taken her.

For three days, they didn't move again. Sansa refused to do anything, but cry and lay in the wagon. She was inconsolable. There was something about losing her family, the very last of her family that snapped the walls she'd so carefully built up around herself. She stayed tucked under Sandor's cloak for those three days. She refused to talk to Sandor, refused to acknowledge when he tried to clean her wound or to feed her food. By the second day, he'd lost all patience with her. He tried to rile her up, tried screaming, yelling, threatening to leave her in the forest by herself. Finally, he grabbed his pack and left. She didn't even bother trying to go after him.

For some reason, he came back hours later, cursing her.

Then, came the third day; Sansa finally snapped.

She didn't have the mild breakthrough one might expect. She didn't yell a bit and finally find a way to move forward. No, she had a complete breakdown. It started that morning. She woke up, jumpy, scared and agitated. She started crying for no reason. She began to scream at Sandor when he tried coming near her and then she grabbed her sword. She cut at whatever she could, despite the fact she could feel it tearing into her shoulder wound. Sandor tried to calm her down at first, but him talking or even shouting at her did nothing. Finally, he tried to walk up to her, but she swung the sword at him any time he took a step closer. He had to dodge the blades just right, cursing her and growling, until he managed to grab hold of her arm. He wrenched the sword from her arm as gently as he could, threw it across the ground and wrapped his other arm around her so she was secure while she thrashed and yelled at him. He managed to uncork the bottle of the Milk of the Poppy with his one hand, forced open her mouth and dumped the rest of its contents down her throat. He kept her mouth covered until she had to swallow down every drop and held onto her until she slumped against him, unconscious once more.

She was riding on Stranger the next time she woke up. She was collapsed against Sandor's chest, with half open eyes. Everything was still hazy, but she could feel the fresh throbbing pain of stitches in her shoulder and the ever present pain in her chest now that her family was gone. It hurt to exist, she didn't want to any longer. She couldn't be that wolf Sandor had told her to be, be strong enough without her pack. She was completely alone. So, she closed her eyes and let the sway of Stranger lull her back to sleep.

She was jolted awake once again by Sandor, this time as he was getting off of Stranger. She looked at the scarred man as he put his feet on the ground and took hold of her. She let him help her off Stranger, submissive and feeling alone. She mumbled some apologizes, kept her head ducked, and waited until he'd started off into the woods to relieve himself. Then she wandered herself, trying to keep the thoughts out of her head. She didn't want to think about anything, not of why she was out in the forest and, more importantly, of who she was. She refused to acknowledge who she was at all.

Somehow, she wandered enough into the forest where it was denser, more compressed together. The light didn't touch the forest ground much, leaving large shadows dancing around. It was almost automatic that she started looking in the shadows, making sure that there was nothing there beside her and the darkness. But, she caught sight of a figure. It certainly wasn't human, but she didn't know what it could be. It walked slowly towards her, hunched over. Sansa noticed that it walked on four legs. Should she be scared? Because she wasn't. In fact, she took a step closer, to try to get a better view.

When she saw the smoke grey fur or the yellow eyes, she couldn't believe it. Her hand covered her mouth, tears formed in her eyes, and all she could do was fall to her knees. With a shaking hand, she reached out and called softly, "Come here, Grey Wind." The massive direwolf, studied her for a moment, winding her. His ears fell back and he whined at her, limping over. She could see the arrows sticking out of his coat, hind leg, and one in his shoulder. He fairly collapsed beside her, but, despite the pain he had to be in, his tail wagged for her just a bit and he bumped his nose to her hand affectionately. Immediately, she began to look over the wounds, moving the fur so she could get a better look. Thankfully, none of them seemed too deep; in fact, one seemed to just be buried under the surface. The only one she worried about most was the one in his hind leg.

She managed to her feet and told him, "Stay." For a moment, he looked ready to get up and she told him again firmly. With a slight huff, he rested his head back on his paws and watched her walk off. She fairly ran back to where she knew Sandor would be and ran up to him as quickly as she could. "Sandor, please come, quick," she said, grabbing hold of his arm and tugging him after her.

"The bloody hell you doing, Little Bird?" he snapped, yanking his arm free, although he kept following her.

"He's hurt. I need help getting the arrows out." He opened his mouth to ask her what was going on, but before he could they were back to Grey Wind. Immediately, Grey Wind raised his hackles and growled at Sandor. Sansa hushed Grey Wind, telling the wolf, "He's a friend."

"The fuck did he come from?" Sandor asked, eying the wolf with apprehension and with his hand on the hilt of his sword.

"He just came up to me. I don't know where he came from," she told him, looking up at him. "He needs help. The arrows don't look too deep, but I don't think I could do it…"

For a moment, he stared at the Stark girl. She looked back at him with wide eyes. It was the first time since the wedding she looked as if she had some life in her. He took one glance at the wolf, back to Sansa, and growled. "Fine," he managed out, taking a careful step closer to Grey Wind. The wolf didn't growl at him, but still watched him with wary golden eyes.

Sansa started talking to Grey Wind, telling the wolf, "He's going to take the arrows out, but I imagine it will hurt." Much like it had been with Lady, Grey Wind seemed to understand exactly what she was saying. He licked her hand, whined once and settled his head on his paws, carefully watching Sandor's movement as the large man crouched down beside him.

In total, there were four arrows in his coat and the one in his hind leg. Sansa sat just right so she could have control of Grey Wind's head if the wolf lashed out, but the smoke grey wolf simply lied there as Sandor worked on the shallowest arrow first. It didn't take him much to yank out the shaft from his flank. The wolf snarled softly, but he didn't snap at either of them directly.

The second arrow was a bit deeper, but Sandor made quick work to it too. One by one, the arrows came out. The wounds bled a bit, but it was nothing too badly. Grey Wind lay there afterwards, lapping at his wounds and let Sansa wrap up the wound on his leg. "Should we do stitches or anything?" Sansa asked Sandor, still looking concerned.

"Wounds'll stop bleedin' soon enough," he grunted, glancing at the dark haired girl beside him. She was too focused on Grey Wind to notice. "The animal able to walk to the wagon?"

"Probably," she murmured, reluctantly getting to her feet. "Give him a bit more time and I'll see if I can get him over there."

"Don't know what we'll do with him," Sandor told her. "He spooks the horses he can't walk by us."

"He shouldn't be walking for a couple days at least. I could ride with him in the wagon."

"Fine. Hurry up." He hesitated a moment, watching the girl closely as she crouched, fussed a bit over Grey Wind and rubbed his ears affectionately. When she looked up at him, she gave him a brief smile and told him, "Thank you."

Soon enough, Grey Wind was up and on his feet. At least three of them. Sansa watched Grey Wind limp about, but he moved almost as fast as he ever did. Sandor already had the wagon packed up and food in hand. When he handed it to Sansa, she stared at the bread, dried meat, and apple, unsure what to do with it. She definitely wasn't hungry; the thought of food made her a bit nauseous. While Sandor wasn't looking, she quickly slipped the fruit back into the bag and handed Grey Wind the bread and meat. He scarfed it down so quick Sansa couldn't believe he chewed it at all. She got him situated in the wagon, where the wolf gratefully lay out across the wood. She walked around the wagon, to where the Hound was strapping up Malia and Stranger. She noticed the gash across Malia's flank, but the horse didn't seem to be in pain in the least.

Sandor didn't even look up at her before he told her, "There's an Inn close by. We can stop there for the night. Thought it would be better to stay there instead."

Sansa blinked, surprised. He never wanted to go near the Inns usually… She asked, "What happens if someone recognizes us?"

He turned towards her, noticed the expression on her face. She started to look a little withdrawn again. He took a step closer, put his large hands on her shoulders and said lowly, "I'll fucking butcher them. I don't give a fuck what those bastards think or want. I'm giving you a damned bed to sleep in tonight, fuck everything else." Overwhelmed by his words and gaze, Sansa looked away and mumbled her consent, her cheeks heating. "Get back in the cart, we'll head out now, 'fore it gets dark." She nodded, walking back to Grey Wind. He looked up at her as she climbed into the cart. She couldn't help, but smile at the wolf and settled down beside him so she could rub his ears. He lay his head in her lap and closed his eyes to rest. The jolting of the cart didn't seem to bother Grey Wind in the least. He continued to lay in Sansa's lap, content, while the Stark girl stared ahead and tried to push any thoughts of the past. She refused to think about it. So, she reached into her bag, pulled out a book, and began to read.

It hadn't taken long for Sandor to get them back onto the Kingsroad and to the Inn. He'd pulled the stolen cloak back over his head, had Sansa put on her dark cloak, and told her to wait with the wagon and horses. She covered Grey Wind up with the white cloak, to his annoyance, but when he tried pulling it off himself, she scolded him. She stayed huddled down in the wagon, thankful that it had grown dark and waited until the Hound returned.

It didn't take long for him to return, cursing softly, but telling Sansa all the same, "Got us a room for the night. Should be able to sneak the animal in the back door."

Sansa told him, "Thank you for letting Grey Wind stay too. I couldn't imagine leaving him out here on his own."

Sandor took the time unstrapping Malia and Stranger and putting them into the stables together. Sansa picked up three of the packs, leaving the last two to Sandor, and grabbed what she could of the bedding. Grey Wind got to his feet slowly, whimpering when he put too much weight on his hind leg. Sansa told him, "Just stay here until I get our room situated. I don't want you having to wait around too long."

The direwolf watched Sansa for a few moments, before reluctantly settling down on the wagon once more. Sandor came up to her, tugged the hood of her dark cloak over her head, and took the bags from her hands. "Just keep your head down and stay quiet, Little Bird," he rasped, easily putting all the packs over his shoulders. Reluctantly, and keeping her head ducked down, Sansa followed after him closely.

He didn't have her stop in the dining hall once. He took her straight down the hall on the same floor, all the way to the end room on the right. She noticed almost immediately there was a door at the end of the hall. Once he had the room unlocked, he beckoned Sansa inside and followed in after her. He dropped their bags on the floor, not caring much how he handled them. "I should go grab Grey Wind," Sansa said, going to stand up, but he cut her off and snapped at her to sit on the bed.

"I'll go grab him for you," he grunted, already going out of the door. Reluctantly, Sansa crawled into the bed and wrapped her arms around the knees. Faintly, she glanced about the room, making a quick mental note of what was around her. They had the bed shoved up into the corner of the room, slightly uncomfortable, but sleepable. There was a small bucket to use, a washbin, and even a small washtub right in the opposite corner.

The door to their room opened again. Immediately, Sansa tensed, grabbed her dagger, but it was Grey Wind who hobbled in and jumped up in bed beside her. He stretched out across the medium sized mattress, taking over most of the space. It brought a small giggle to her mouth and she told him, "You won't be able to stay here all night." He licked her hand in response, settled his large head across her lap and closed his eyes. Sandor was watching them closely.

"Got some food ordered for us. Should be here soon," he told Sansa after a moment.

She shrugged and said quietly, "I'm not real hungry."

"You haven't eaten anything in days. You're gonna eat," he snapped, looking irritated. Reluctantly, Sansa nodded, although she wondered if she'd be able to force anything down. So, she went back to petting Grey Wind and trying to avoid thinking about what it would be like to put food in her mouth.

Soon enough, there was a knock to their door. The kitchen wenches attempted to come into the room to deliver the platters, but the Hound was quick to step in and keep them from coming into the room. He snarled at them, yanked the platters from their fingers and slammed the door shut in their faces before they could do anything. Sansa just watched him, unsurprised by his rude behavior. He set the platters on the bed carefully, told Sansa, "Wolf needs to get down."

Grey Wind opened his eyes long enough to stare at Sandor for a moment. He looked back down at the food, at Sandor, and then at Sansa. Sansa opened her mouth and asked, "Maybe he could just stay up here? I'm sure we can make the room for it…"

She started situating herself, fussing about on the bed and scooting over herself and Grey Wind until each of them could fit decently comfortable with platters in their laps. Grey Wind had a bowl of scraps Sandor had the kitchen scrounge up, and each Sandor and Sansa had their own heaping plates. Sansa looked at the food with little interest, from the beans that looked limp and cold, the bread that was far too flat and probably stale, and the meat that looked so overcooked and greasy it made her stomach churn just to think about it. She always told herself that she'd never complain about her food. But she just didn't want to eat. Didn't Sandor understand that?

He was looking at her, waiting for her to take that first bite. Reluctantly, so very reluctant, she picked up the bread and brought it to her mouth. The first bite tasted like ash in her mouth. She almost gagged, but forced herself to chew and swallow. He started eating as well, but she noticed he kept a close eye on her the entire time. Reluctant and feeling sick to her stomach, Sansa tried to force more food down her throat.

By the fifth bite, she was too sick to continue. She almost heaved, her hand covering her mouth in an attempt not to be sick all over their bed. Sandor took her plate from her, scowling, but moved around so she could make it to the washbin. Thankfully, even as she leaned over the little bin, she didn't lose the food she managed down. She turned back to Sandor, still feeling a bit sick. "Is it okay if I just lay down and sleep?"

"Fine," he grunted, taking her plate and reluctantly giving it to Grey Wind, who'd been eying it with an obvious hunger. She crawled across the bed and curled up in a ball near the wall, staring straight ahead and trying not to think. She couldn't sleep, even as Grey Wind curled up next to her feet, Sandor had long since blown out the candles and he'd lay back down on the bed. She almost tensed when she felt Sandor take the comforter and pull it over her shoulders, but as she thought about it, she realized he'd taken the time to make sure she was comfortable even though he thought she was asleep.

She pulled the comforter to herself all the more and squeezed her eyes shut in an attempt to fall asleep.

**~A/N~**

**I'm so glad for the responses for this fanfic! I never imagined this fic would get many reviews at all, you have no idea how excited I am to look at my email every day and see that someone else had followed, favorited or reviewed my fic. There's nothing that compares to it!**

**I do apologize that the chapter is shorter than previous ones, but there was a lot of splits and in the same chapter and I just decided to break it up into three chapters instead. So this one and thirteen will come out pretty close together, but it all depends on what all happens with fourteen on how long the update after that will be. Hopefully not too late, at most maybe a week I'm hoping.**

**Thanks again for so many responses!**

**R&amp;R**

**XmX**


	13. Chapter 13: Stopped

**Chapter Thirteen: Stopped**

Their one night at the Inn turned into several days and nights. Sansa had refused to get out of bed the next morning, too tired, mentally exhausted and still crying. Sandor tried to force food on her, but she'd struggled with him until the platter had ended up against the wall and she had been actually yelling at him. He'd stormed off that day and left her alone all the way to the next morning.

The Hound had no clue how to handle this girl in front of him, because she was certainly not Sansa Stark. She was the shell of a girl, one who was trying to hide as best as she could. She refused to acknowledge her own name, only answered when Sandor called her "Little bird" or any other name not related to the Stark Family. The worst was the fact she stared at him with empty eyes, void of anything, but misery. Even Grey Wind could hardly provoke a reaction out of her, until he was whining and licking at her face in an attempt to make her laugh. It worked eventually, but she still ended up going back into her dark place where she wasn't her.

It was the fourth day with so little food or water, when Sandor finally took it upon himself to drag her to the main hall. He let Grey Wind out the window before they'd left the room (feeling it was too much a risk to let him out the back door in the mornings). The dining hall wasn't full with too many people, but it was enough to make Sansa tense. Reluctantly, she had to sit down and, for a short while, she'd poked listlessly at the food on her plate. When he'd started to force her to eat food, she was reluctant to take a bite. While Sansa didn't want to acknowledge who she was, it was obvious that she still felt like she had to act like a lady. She didn't make any scene in the main hall, ate what Sandor put on her plate, and sat there with her eyes down while he ate his own.

"Gonna send you off today," he told her when he was almost done eating. She looked up at him, her face looked so startled and afraid that it made him chuckle lowly. "Not like that Little Bird. Inn keeper's wife needs help sewing up some clothes, offered your assistance since we been here so long."

She relaxed visibly and mumbled, "That's fine. It's not as if I have much else to do."

An older lady hobbled over shortly after that and pulled her right to her feet. She followed the lady without complaint and with few words. There were several women, kitchen wenches and older women alike sitting around, sewing and chatting. Sansa sat in one of the last two chairs and was given a pile of torn fabrics to work through. She picked up the first tunic, took the needle and threads and began to stitch. She listened vaguely as the women went on and on, talking and gossiping about the latest news. The kitchen wenches went back and forth from serving and stitching and back again. The older women stayed around the most. It was then one of them talked to Sansa.

"So, what brought you and… your companion to the North, girl? Are you from around here?"

It snapped Sansa out of her simple stitching and she blinked a few times. "Oh, uh, Sandor you mean? He helped me escape from a raid at my house, and I've just sort of been following him since then."

"Oh, wha' city you come from, girl?" another women asked.

"Just a small farm house not far from Riverrun," she mumbled, turning back to her stitches.

But the women didn't seem to take the polite dismissal, for they just kept on. "Do ya knew 'bout tha man, who he really is?" another asked. "We recognize him soon we saw him!"

Sansa's shoulders tensed immediately and she actually took the time to glare at the girl. "He isn't the Hound. They may have called him that, spread terrible rumors about him, but he's been nothing other than kind to me."

She hunched her shoulders and refused to acknowledge the women the rest of the morning. By the afternoon, Sansa was let free from the work (as her basket had been completed far sooner than any of the other girls). When she went down the hall to her and Sandor's room, she went back into the room and sat on the bed and started going through her bags in frustration. She pulled out everything she could, until she found Sandor's white cloak and tucked the cloth up to her chest. She squeezed it close, her eyes half closed and she bowed her head.

Sandor found her several hours later, still in the same position. "Little Bird?" he rasped, looking at her. She lifted her head, tears in her eyes, but she shook her head, wiped at her face, and asked him about dinner instead. Reluctantly, he nodded, studying her close. She was surprised to see a small look of concern in his eyes. She couldn't remember the last time he hadn't looked at her like she was a stupid girl. She laid his cloak on the bed, got down, and followed him out the door.

Dinner was far busier than breakfast that morning. Sansa found it was easier to stomach dinner than she had breakfast and she needed less prodding to keep eating from Sandor. She finished almost half of her plate before her stomach began protesting and she decided it would be best to save the rest of it for Grey Wind. She wasn't sure if he was hunting while he was out throughout the day or if he was doing other things, but all that really mattered was that he came back. It was like he was her last connection to her family. Otherwise, she was nothing more than a lost girl in a huge world.

By the time she was ready for bed, Sandor was piss drunk and looking ready to fall over. With a little persuasion and with him leaning on her, Sansa helped him back to their bedroom and to the full sized bed. As he got ready to lie down, cursing and grumbling, Sansa wandered over to the window and peeked out. The yellow eyes of the direwolf stared up at her expectantly, waiting for the window to be opened. She did just that, watched as the large wolf easily leapt up the six foot wall into the window and nuzzle her hand in greeting. He went over to the plate of leftovers Sansa brought with her and started eating them up.

"Little bird," Sandor called for her suddenly, slurring a bit. With a soft sigh, she walked over to the bed to be greeted by the sight of a half undressed Sandor Clegane.

It stopped her in her tracks for a moment, blinking once, twice. She knew that he was a man of muscles and scars, but never had she thought he would be so toned out and littered with quite so many scars. She swallowed thickly, suddenly feeling shy, but she couldn't look away. He was still sitting up, studying her with hazed, but interested eyes. "C'mhere girl," he muttered, reaching out a hand and tugging her fairly onto his lap.

"S-Sandor, what are you doing?" she squeaked out, mildly surprised. Even with him sitting on the bed and her on her feet, he barely had to look up at her to make eye contact. But he didn't do that; no, he wrapped his large forearms around her and pulled her to him, so he was resting his head against her shoulder. She could feel his scars of his face on her skin, rough, but not unwelcome and the air of each breath he let out. He didn't say a word to her for some time, keeping his arms around her and his head on her shoulder.

Sansa felt like she should be tense, but instead, she found she could easily relax in this embrace, welcomed the feel of his warm body against hers. She rested her chin on his head and her fingers gently combed through a few gnarls of his dark hair. And, as she began to truly relax, she felt as he pressed his lips against her neck.

She fairly gasped, she was so startled, but his grip on her tightened and he rasped quietly, "I want you, Little Bird."

She pulled away from him, eyes wide, and looked at the man in front of her. His eyes, hazed, but darker than usual, stared at her in a way that told her it wasn't a lie and made her stomach flutter. She reached up a hand to touch his cheek, his unscarred side, and glanced down at his mouth. She thought about how insane everything had gone in just the last year. How she found herself all alone except for the man that was right in front of her, staring at her like she was the only person in the world at the moment.

And, as he tugged her down just a bit, she wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her mouth against his in a tentative kiss.

She had been kissed only a few times in her life. The first time she'd ever kissed someone, it had been when she was only six, far too young to know much about what was going on and why she was actually kissing the boy. It had been awkward, with a town boy she couldn't remember the name of. He'd boasted he'd be a knight and find a way to win her heart. She'd never tried to find the time to see him shortly after that.

Her second kiss had been with Joffrey Lannister. That had been less than pleasant. She'd wanted to convince herself that it had been good, that it had been magical. She'd wanted it so bad, she almost convinced herself. That was until he'd butchered her father. Then all she could think about was the reality of the kiss. It had been a sloppy kiss. He had a hard time actually pressing his wormy lips against hers and it had been more of a half kiss rather than a chaste one. It made her cringe to think about how it had felt.

This, this was her third kiss. Sandor didn't seem to know what to do with himself as she kissed him. He froze and she pulled away. For a moment, she panicked and thought she'd overthought what he'd said. Then he came at her. His mouth was hard, the kiss demanding, but it was definitely not unwelcomed. She clutched onto him as best as she could, trying to keep up with him as he kissed her, pulled her onto his lap, and tangled his good hand in her hair. The weight of her settling on him must have been too much in his drunken state, for they fell back on the bed. They only broke apart for a moment, each breathing heavily, Sandor staring at Sansa. She tried not to think; instead she went in for another kiss.

She never thought she could feel this way kissing someone. He left her in a puddle of mixed emotions. She tingled, she felt hot, and she never imagined someone could make her shiver like he did when he started to kiss her neck. He nipped her skin, a little more roughly than she thought he would, but it felt far too nice to complain.

Just as he was kissing further and further down and she was fairly mewling in pleasure, something happened. He just stopped suddenly. Confused, Sansa opened her eyes and looked down at the large man underneath her.

He'd fallen unconscious.

For a moment, she stared at him, at the man who'd so openly told her he wanted her. She fairly jumped off of him, eyes wider if possible. She'd kissed him! She'd let him kiss her. She would have let him… "No, no, no, this isn't okay," she mumbled to herself, taking another step away from him. This wasn't what she was supposed to do. This wasn't what she was raised to do. She was- She didn't finish that thought.

Grey Wind was beside her in an instant, pressing his flank against her as if to calm her. It gave her a solid ground to which she could control the rapid beating of her heart. She pressed her hand to her chest and rubbed on Grey Wind's ear absently. "We should both probably get back to bed," she murmured quietly. Reluctantly, she took a step towards the bed, where Sandor was still sprawled across, and managed to find a place to sleep. She shoved him over on the bed just enough where she could sleep. It was also enough room where Grey Wind could curl up between them and where Sansa could still rub his head if he needed her to.

She fell asleep shortly after, feeling guilty and thrilled at the same time.

#

#

She was alone in the morning when she woke up. Grey Wind was probably outside, which didn't surprise her, but Sandor was gone. For a moment, she blinked sleepily and closed her eyes again. But then it came to mind that it was far brighter than she was used to, so she opened her eyes again and looked around. It was then she noticed most of their stuff. In an instant, Sansa was to her feet, suddenly panicked. He couldn't be gone, he just couldn't! He was what was left of her family. He was part of her family now…

Just as she threw the door open, she shrieked in surprise to see someone standing right in front of her. Her hand on her chest, she managed out, "Goodness, you scared me."

"The bloody hells you doing this morning?" Sandor growled as he pushed his way into the door and for the rest of the bags.

She watched him grab the stuff for a moment, then asked, "Are you going somewhere?"

He grunted in response and told her, "We're gonna get you some place safe, Little bird. Been thinkin' about it these last few days. You got an aunt, up in the Eyrie."

She stared at him, dumbstruck. When he looked at her, bags in hand, she croaked out, "What are you saying?"

"Gonna take you there, no other place for you to go," he grunted, starting out of the room.

"No, I'm not going there!" she said loudly, following after him. "I won't go to a stranger's home! I don't know her, have never met her. Why would I go to her?"

"She can protect you better than I can," he growled, pushing open the door outside to the stables.

"No, she can't! She'll just bargain me off to the highest bidder. She won't want me there, not at all!" She was fairly shaking, as she followed him outside. "I don't want to be there, Sandor!"

They'd stopped outside the stables, right by Stranger's and Malia's stalls. He dropped the bags and turned to her, looking angrier than usual. She lifted her head and told him again, "I want to be with you. I want to go where you go, where you travel, no matter how far it is. There's no place else for me to go." He didn't answer her, he just turned his attention back to strapping packs to Stranger. "Sandor!"

"I'm not going to fucking be here for you, Little Bird!" he yelled at her, turning so suddenly he scared her. The way he looked at her, like she was a nuisance, one he didn't want to deal with brought tears to her eyes. "I don't fucking want you here. I just want to go drink and fuck and not worry about anything as stupid as a little girl like you!"

He was breathing heavily, staring at her with such dislike she could feel herself withering down. She hunched her shoulders, ducked her head, and reluctantly nodded. It felt as if her heart was being ripped out. She didn't know what it was. But she'd thought they'd finally gotten somewhere, a middle where they had a common ground. She thought she was useful, finally. And just last night he'd been telling her he wanted her. But maybe that had been the lie. His last way to make her feel as miserable as possible.

He'd gone back to strapping up the packs, cursing and fumbling with each strap. He stopped paying any mind to her, so it wasn't much for her to slip into Malia's stall and get up on her. The stable boy already had her saddled and ready for the trip. When he went back to the room to grab something else, Sansa didn't think about it, she just pressed her heels into Malia's side and they left.

He didn't want her.

She didn't see the point in burdening him with her presence any longer. If he wanted her to go to family, fine, she would. But not to Aunt Lysa. Oh, no, she refused to go to the lady she knew nothing of. No, she could go to Jon instead. She would ride to the Wall, she just needed to stick close enough to the Kingsroad. She had her sword, her few packs Sandor had been kind enough to strap to Malia, and she still had the daggers hidden under her clothes. So, she rode.

**~A/N~**

**So, yes the chapter is shorter, but I didn't want to put in another part of the chapter the ending was too perfect. Hopefully you all enjoyed it, the next chapter should be out shortly, it is already on its last bit of editing and rewriting. So probably in the next two or three days! Thank you for the reviews, the inspiration is never-ending when I get them.**

**R&amp;R**

**XmX**


	14. Chapter Fourteen: Onward

**Chapter Fourteen: Onward**

To say traveling by herself was easier was a lie. The instant they were far enough away from the Inn, Sansa realized she had to think all of this out by herself. Because Sandor would be able to track her, maybe not right away, but once Grey Wind turned back up, they could track her scent. So, just a few miles down the road, Sansa took Malia into the woods on the right, until she found a stream she could walk Malia in. They went down another three miles in the water, then got off at a shallow bank and started back into the Kingsroad.

For a short while, everything seemed to be going smoothly, but then something happened with Malia. At first, she thought it was just the amount of galloping they were doing at once, but Malia kept breathing heavier and heavier. Then she started to limp. Sansa stopped her immediately, concerned about the wound to her flank. It hadn't ripped open or started bleeding, but it was obvious that it bothered the poor mare. They stopped for a short while, giving Malia the chance to drink, graze and rest up. When they finally started again, Sansa made sure not to go faster than a trot with Malia. She made sure their path zigzagged, from which side of the road they were on, the length to which they stayed in the forest paths, and tried to make sure it wouldn't be easy to follow. Honestly, the more she thought about it, it was unlikely Sandor would really come looking for her.

After that, the rest of the day wasn't too terrible. Her and Malia managed quite a ways away from the Inn. She tried to ride through the night, but part way through, Sansa noticed she was nodding off too much to ride. Reluctantly, she stopped for the night. She tied Malia's reigns to a tree carefully, making sure the knot was tight enough so the mare couldn't wander off. Then she settled on the cold ground, pulled out her own dark cloak and wrapped it around herself. She refused to acknowledge the white cloak sitting in the bottom of her bag.

That first night was the worst. It was freezing and Sansa realized she should have waited for Grey Wind. Instead of waiting or running off in the middle of the night, she'd done everything in her power to make sure the Hound couldn't find her before he'd left. It was very likely the direwolf wouldn't be able to find her either. She craved to have the wolf beside her, to comfort her and give her that connection she had been missing for some time without her family. She started to regret her decision to leave so abruptly. And, as she lay against a tree, curled up on her left side to avoid her injury, she noticed her shoulder began to throb, mildly at first, but the pain began to magnify until she swore the throbs followed in time with her heartbeat. Still, she managed to doze off for a bit at least.

She rose with the sun that morning and worked to get Malia watered, grazed, and herself fed with what little bit of bread she had in her packs. Sandor usually carried most of the food on the warhorse since they usually rode together. She scarfed it all down and then got Malia ready for another ride. She kept Malia to the same trot pace, only stopping when she needed to relieve herself or Malia seemed to need a break. Her shoulder throbbed more noticeably, but she tried to ignore it. It had started to just ache dully, so she didn't bother checking it. She didn't have time to stop and wash herself, certainly didn't trust the stream to be clean enough to not get her wound infected.

She had to stop when it was turning into the evening. She needed to catch something for food. Her stomach growled and ached. She didn't know how to trap, hadn't seen any bushes with fruits or any farms, so she was forced to have to try to catch a fish. She let Malia graze without concern, rolled up her breeches so they didn't get soaked and waddled into the freezing stream. She kept her sword at the ready, reluctant to use her injured arm, but she didn't know whether or not she'd really be able to hit anything with her left arm.

It was hard work to try to hit a fish swimming nearby. It took her several, several attempts. She missed by inches, sometimes by much more. She stumbled several times, startling the rest of the fish away from her. She cursed, her arm burned with the effort, but eventually she managed to hit one fish. She called it quits for the night, figuring it was better than nothing. Then she was set to the task of starting a fire by herself.

She didn't have the flint she used from Sandor's things previously, so she had to figure out the best way to start the fire without it. Her Father had taught her how to at one point, telling her it could be helpful if for some reason she ever ended up on her own. She'd huffed and argued that she'd never be without her prince (how childish and naïve!), but Ned hadn't let up until she could start her own fire. She pretended to be just as disappointed, but inside, she remembered the small thrill at being able to start the fire herself.

For the life of herself, she couldn't remember exactly how her father started the pile of wood. So, she started with a large pile of logs and twigs. She scrounged around on the ground, until she found the rock her father told her could produce sparks to start the fire. The first several tries, she couldn't get any sparks to appear. Then, when she finally managed the sparks, it was impossible to keep the fire from smoking out. She tried recalling just how Father had started the pile, decided to pull out the larger pieces and focused on a small pile of leaves and twigs. She did remember that he'd told her to feed the fire, work up to the larger logs once she had a good fire going. So she did just that. Soon enough, she had a good fire started. Impressed with herself, she settled back and started prepping her fish while she warmed up herself. She scraped off the scales and cut off the head and tail. She put a spit through the middle of the fish, settled it in the flames so it would cook through quicker. She finished up the last of the bread she had while she waited for the fish.

Her belly felt full enough once she finished eating for the night. She felt woozy, more tired than the night before, so it didn't take her long to settle out on the ground and close her eyes.

She didn't wake up like she had the morning before. She woke up, her head fuzzy, feeling groggy and congested and almost like she was out of her body. But what shocked her most was that the sun had risen high in the sky, nearing midmorning already. Immediately, she tried to get to her feet to start out. But as soon as she moved, everything in her vision began to spin and she felt a massive wave of nausea. She collapsed back to the ground, eyes squeezed shut. Her shoulder throbbed, radiating from her joint to the tips of her fingers.

She forced herself off of the ground, so that she was collapsed against a tree trunk. She knew, just knew it was her shoulder. She hadn't taken care of it properly since Sandor had stitched her up. She hadn't cleaned it, hadn't changed the wrapping unless he forced her to, and hadn't even bothered paying attention to the fact it hadn't been healing properly. She couldn't smell anything, but that didn't mean rot hadn't started… A glance to her tunic told her the wound was definitely bleeding. She fairly ripped the tunic to take a look at her shoulder, grateful she'd borrowed this one while her dresses dried. The stitches Sandor had placed fairly ripped through her skin, leaving the gash open and weeping blood and a greenish substance.

It had gotten infected. One way or another, whatever the reason or lack of responsibility on her part, Sansa's shoulder was infected. She was out here, on her own, with an infection that could quickly spread to rot. She fairly sobbed, distressed and knowing she was in trouble. But she had to stay strong. She needed to clean her wound.

Her first attempt to touch her wound, to press part of her tunic against it to stanch the bleeding, almost made her passed out then. She couldn't stand to take care of it and no one else could get to the river to boil some water. But she had to try. So, she pressed against the tree and used it to help her to her feet shakily. She took a step away from the tree, using her left hand to keep her steady. A second, a third step, and it looked as if she could possibly make it.

By the tenth step, however, she stumbled and fell to the ground, panting with the effort. She let herself fall over onto her left side and closed her eyes. She could just rest for a moment…

For quite some time, she felt as if she was dreaming. But there was something off. It was like she was floating, up and out of the trees, across lands and seas and rivers and fires. Then she began to crash down like a bird diving for prey. Except, she noticed she was aiming straight for a silvery grey creature below. She met the animal on the ground; everything went black, just for an instant. Then she opened her eyes. Everything around her settled in a haze of color, but when she looked down, she was startled to find the sight of paws where her feet should have been. She was to her feet, as if she wanted to get away from the sight in front of her. "Summer, what is it?"

Her head snapped up, not because of what they called her, but because she recognized the voice. She whined, almost out of instinct, seeing the sight of Bran Stark in front of her, settled down on an icy ground with a fire in front of him. "Summer?" he asked again, but she didn't make another sound, just loped over to him and nuzzled her, Summer's, head against his hand. For a moment, Bran rubbed her ear, but then he pulled his hand away and he looked, really looked at Summer. "You have blue eyes…" he murmured, brows furrowed. Could he see she was here, in the wolf?

Bran laid his hand to Summer's flank, but instead of petting the direwolf like Sansa expected, she felt the sudden presence, another, pressing to her, shoving her out of the direwolf. She shot back out to the sky, so sudden and startling she sort of floated there for just a moment. It was as if she could see above all of Westeros, could witness what was going on. But she could truly only see five places in the entire kingdom. She ached to reach out to them, could almost feel the presence of each direwolf as they ran and slept.

But something else tugged her away, from Westeros and those she knew were her family below. It pulled, faster and faster, stretching her and yanking until she was in a place she had never seen before. And, as she began to fall to the earth once more, she noticed men and women and children and a city of red, so much red. It was there, she was pulled, to a creature she had only read in books. But, she is unable to think about it before she is sucked in.

Again, the creature blinked and she saw through him. This time, Sansa felt the change, the creature so different from her Lady or Summer or Grey Wind. This one is cool, scaled, and with different view of the world. He is perched beside a lady, with violet eyes and silvery blonde hair. The meat, which the creature had opened his mouth to eat, lay in this woman's hand. Sansa hesitated, halting the creature's movements. The woman cocked her head to the side, asked, "Drogon?"

"Is something the matter, Khaleesi?" Sansa heard someone ask in the background. She tipped her head towards the woman, one of dark skin and dark hair and in a dark outfit Sansa is not familiar with.

But then he blinked and Sansa was gone again.

She tried thinking of Sandor, of Stranger, where they could possibly be. But it isn't until her thoughts went to Grey Wind that she is able to start moving, faster and faster, back to Westeros. She noticed the smoke grey fur that is Grey Wind and goes right for him, possibly even faster than before. Again, he blinked and she is there, viewing through his eyes the forest beside him. She stops running, winds the air. Immediately, she caught scent of horse and man and turns around. Stranger is there and Sandor, atop the horse.

The Hound is watching the wolf, glaring at the creature. From her view below, he looks far less menacing than he did when she looked at him from her perspective. "The matter now?" he growled. "Did you lose her scent again?" A relief so unlike what she is used to washed over her presence and through Grey Wind. Immediately, the body of the wolf calmed. She can smell the emotion rolling off of the Hound, fear and anticipation and anxiety.

Overwhelmed, she wanted to go to Sandor immediately, but instead, she forced her nose to the ground, back to the scent of another horse and faintly another man. But the smell is different, dulled and more flowery. It had to be her scent, it had a different smell to man. It's strong, so she led them forward, running faster and faster, noticing the stronger the smell gets. Sandor must have lost sight of Grey Wind, for Sansa can hear him cursing after the wolf.

She doesn't pause, Sansa began to run. She jumped over logs, remembering the path she had taken. The feeling of running with the wolf, free and with agility she never had as a human was so exhilarating she almost didn't stop when she caught sight of the mare.

But she remembered why she was running, straight to this clearing. She walked over, panting, as she passed the burnt out fire and ignored the mare who danced out of her way, whinnying. And, as Grey Wind loped over to her, pausing, she was shocked to stare down at her own figure, the part of her face she can see is ashen and covered in mud. Immediately, she looked over the rest of herself. She looked at her hair, the locks streaked in dark and auburn, looking a mess. She can see herself mumbling, nonsense that she can't hear. So, she lowered the wolf's head closer, but before she can make out a word, she noticed the one eye of hers is open and completely white.

She is so startled by that, it pushed her right out of Grey Wind and back into the darkness.

Immediately, she felt a settling, like a weight in her body to tell her she is home. She managed to crack open her eyes and she is greeted by the sight of yellow eyes and a wet nose pressing into her face. She can hear as Sandor crashes through the trees, falling suddenly silent as Stranger stopped. Then he is cursing, getting down from the horse, and running right to her. His hands are on her, lifting her so she is on her back in the grass. The pain is so excruciating, it immediately opens her eyes and she is greeted by the furious sight of the man in front of her.

"Sandor," she breathed, almost reaching out to touch him.

Instead of snapping or snarling, he tugged down the ripped part of her tunic and cursed as he looked at the wound. He got off the ground, went to Stranger, and pulled out a flask she knew had wine in it. He didn't seem deterred that her fire had already burned down. She watched as he quickly gathered up more twigs and logs and used his flint to start it back up again. Her eyes closed, exhausted. "Don't you dare go back to sleep, Little bird," he growled. Reluctant, she opened her eyes and looked back over at him. He had the wine on to boil already. She noticed he was holding something into the flames, but it wasn't until he'd straightened and turned back to her that she saw what it was. She whimpered, knowing exactly what he was going to do with the dagger. The metal was glowing red and orange. He was planning to put that blade into her shoulder, to burn out the infection and then clean it out with the wine.

Still, as he came back to her and knelt above her, she just squeezed her eyes shut and let him do what he needed to. The initial cut hurt the worse, the blood and open flesh sizzling as the metal made contact. She whined in pain, trying not to scream and clenched together her fists. His fingers prodded open her wound, as he cut deeper and wider, trying to make sure to clean everything out. It was unlike anything Sansa had felt before. She began to scream, almost jerked away from him, but Sandor gruffly told her, "Hold still," and pressed his large hand across her left shoulder to keep her grounded.

She could feel each slice of the blade, as it cut into her flesh and slowly began to cool. She knew immediately when he accidentally cut down too far and he'd hit her bone. The pain was so bad she could no longer scream. She felt each swipe of the blade, as he cleaned out the infection and any possibly infected tissue. He wiped down the blade after each time, being thorough. She wished she would pass out already, but for some reason, she couldn't seem to go to sleep. Then he stood up. She almost sighed in relief, until she realized he was walking back over for the wine. She sobbed, knowing the wine would just hurt more than ever before.

Sandor surprised her by pressing a bottle to her lips and telling her to drink. She could tell it was the Milk of the Poppy the moment she started drinking the liquid. Things began to go fuzzy and she almost dozed off, but the burn of the wine kept her awake. She couldn't scream, but her eyes were open and wide with the pain. For once, Sandor looked at her, at the girl in front of her, and told her, "I know it burns. Just bear with me a few more minutes, Little bird." His voice was gentle, sounding kind, and she knew he was pulling from his experience with his own burns.

When Sandor tipped her to the right, draining the scalding liquid, her whole right side was fairly numb. She hardly felt when he began stitching her up all over again and watched him as he worked. Still, she eventually managed out, "Why did you come for me?"

He cursed, stopping long enough to glare at her and snarled, "Why the fuck did you up and leave?! That was the dumbest decision you could have ever-"

"Y-you wanted me gone. You wanted to get rid of the stupid girl, remember?"

He cursed again, pressing the needle into her shoulder a little rougher than necessary. "I was fucking piss-ass drunk, Little Bird. I hardly remember a thing from dinner, much less the rest of whatever else I fucking said. Bloody hells, you should know I'm not just going to up and leave you wherever the fuck seems best by now."

"You had everything packed up. You told me you would take me to my aunt. W-we k…" The words died on her lips, the tears started to form in her eyes again. He finally tied off her stitches, so she was able to sit up, woozy, but for the most part stable.

"I woke up passed out on the floor," he growled, rubbing at his face and looking irritated all over again. "Don't ever fucking just up and leave girl. I brought you to this damn country, from the cage. I couldn't get you to your family fast enough, I sure as hell won't let you wander off by yourself."

She leaned forward and rested her head against his shoulder. Immediately, she felt him tense, but she didn't pull away. She just closed her eyes and murmured, "I never want to be away from you."

"You're going to have to go home, back to Winterfell."

"I won't without you." She tipped her head up, looking at him through her lashes. "My family is dead, my home has been sacked. All I have left is a brother in the North at the Wall, who cannot help me win back my lands. It's only you and I now. And if you plan to go to the free cities still, I'll come with you. You're who I trust now."

"Don't trust anyone, Little Bird," he told her hoarsely.

"I'll only trust you." He didn't say anything to that and she decided not to either. Eventually he got her up enough where he could get her laid out on the sleeping mat they had. He dug through her bag and pulled out the ever present white cloak she used as a blanket and tucked it in around her.

"Go to sleep, Little Bird, we'll talk about this more once you're healed up," he told her. Sansa nodded once, closed her eyes and let the darkness take back over again.

**~A/N~**

**Glad that there's still people reading this fic! It's been slower than I'd like, but I'm finally getting to the new plot of the story I'm super psyched for the next following chapters. Fifteen is on its way to being complete it's just been a bit of a slower update. thank you again for all of the reviews!**

**R&amp;R**

**XmX**


	15. Chapter 15: Information

**Chapter Fifteen: Information**

Sansa felt better back out in the woods rather than a tavern or Inn that was crowded, had so many Frey men and their allies. The day after Sandor found her, he'd moved them only far enough into the woods where he could find a shelter. They stumbled upon a cave. Sandor put together a camp, planning to stay there for at least a week. This way, he would be able to start hunting animals, collecting berries, roots, and nuts, and let Sansa rest and heal up from the reopening of her wound. It hurt to move her shoulder, but overall her shoulder seemed to be healing up nicely.

Sansa noticed something about being back out in the forest too. She felt as if she could focus on a purpose rather than just settling out in a tavern. It helped her move a forward with the grief of her family. She cried and grieved Robb and Catelyn. But she refused to fall back into her pit of self-pity and destruction. In fact, she found more than anything she was angry and frustrated and craved a bit of revenge to the Frey Household. She used this feeling to start working her arm and getting the limb used to the feelings of daily work. It throbbed sometimes, leaked occasionally, but Sansa noticed the angry red had disappeared and she'd begun to feel healthier again.

At night, she dreamed. And it wasn't the nightmares she'd grown used to. No, she dreamt like she walked with the animals, as the animals. She dreamt of Bran and Rickon and Arya, but not as themselves. They were the wolves, Summer, Shaggydog, and Nymeria. Grey Wind led them, spoke with them in their wolfish tongue that they all understood. The wolves seemed to realize it was Sansa who spoke through Grey Wind, that it was their sister who now helped lead the pack. They grieved the loss of Robb, but accepted Sansa back as if she'd been gone before then.

She also dreamt of fire and blood and dragons. She spotted places she never recognized, had never heard descriptions of. She rode in a dark casket, covered from the light, but free to breathe the air around. She recognized the young woman of silver hair and violet eyes whenever the cage was opened and she was free to bask in the light. She caught names, Irri and the young woman, Daenerys. They called her other names names, Dany, Khaleesi, the Unburnt, and Mother of Dragons, and it made Sansa wonder if she was truly dreaming all of this. Still, in the body of the first dragon, Drogon, she never felt quite like she belonged there. More so, sometimes she wasn't always in the body of the first dragon, there were others she dreamed she was.

There was one, who was almost the exact opposite of Drogon. This one was pale and light, with scales and pale cream. His horns and wingbones were crested in gold. He was smaller than his dark brother, but still as strong. If she's looking through the eyes of either other dragon, she can see he has eyes of molten gold and teeth as shiny black daggers. She can feel he recognizes whenever Dany called for him, Viserion. If he was let free to fly a bit, she could feel the wind under his wings and the feeling of freedom in his chest. His fire was beautiful, a color of red and orange with hints of a pale gold. And she found, the more she was in his body and his mind, the more she longed to be with him out of the three.

The last of the three dragons she was with was one called Rhaegal. By far, he was the one she was least comfortable as when she slipped into his skin, from his point of view. He was scaled green and bronze, the second largest out of the trio. His eyes were as bronze as polished shields with dagger teeth and claws far darker than Viserion's. She watched him breathe his fire rather than ever experiencing it, a color of orange and yellow streaked with green.

Still, despite ever being uncomfortable as part of Rhaegal, nothing compared to breathing fire with Drogon or Viserion. It took the first few dreams before she noticed an ever present pit of heat pooled between the chest and belly, just in his front torso. The rest of the dragon, from his head, back, and tail felt cooled and scaled. However, it was a total different experience when she felt one of the dragons breathing flames; the entire body was engulfed in heat and warmth and her chest seemed to dance with the flames even after she woke up. Nothing could compare to the feeling.

Sansa thought to keep the dreams to herself. She brewed on them, let her mind wander to thoughts and wonders she never imagined. Surely, there was no such thing as Dragons. They were myths and folklore and children's stories to keep the kids in at night. The more she thought of it, the more she itched to read her books. So, she sat outdoors, her feet in the water and read every book she had collected up that she knew might have some sort of histories. She only had a handful of them, six in total, but one of them was just a retelling of the war against the Mad King.

None of these stories gave her enough information about the dragons or about the word _Khaleesi_. She gnawed at her bottom lip, made notes of all that she'd seen in her dreams, made notes from the books she'd read and eventually settled on the fact that she would have to ask Sandor about some of it. She looked up, where he was collecting up some water from the stream further downhill, and hopped off the rock. It had been nearing ten days and he still felt they should wait a bit longer before she started really riding again.

She walked over to him slowly, her eyes never leaving him as he worked. He was shirtless again, giving her a view of his muscles as he carried the water back from the river to boil. He'd been insistent to keep a good amount around while they were settled in one place. But she wasn't thinking of that, she was thinking of the night she'd kissed him. Even the thought of what they'd done brought butterflies to her stomach and her heart beat faster. She started noticing the more she thought about it, the more she realized he'd always made her feel different than anyone else she'd been around. That scared her more than anything, so she tried not to think about it too much.

He finally noticed she was wandering down the hill and finished putting the water on the flames near the water. "What do you need, Little Bird?" he rasped, barely looking up at her.

She cleared her throat, and then said timidly, "I have a few questions on some subjects I'm not too familiar with…"

He started laughing, shaking his head. "Only you'd been doing more research while on the run, Little Bird," he told her.

She flushed and said, "It's just… I've been having weird dreams. About my family and-"

"Pretty common after what happened," he grunted, not meeting her eye this time.

Immediately, she tensed, but managed to keep her voice even as she said, "It has nothing to do with Robb or Mother. It has to do with Arya and Bran and Rickon. While I know we saw M-mother and Robb d… I never saw bodies for Bran and Rickon and I only heard from some gossiping girls what they were hearing. It's possible…"

"Don't try to convince yourself something that won't be true." He looked at her, really looked at her like she was worth something.

Feeling a bit dreadful now, she decided to try, "Well then, do you know what a Khaleesi is?"

Almost automatically, he answered, "It's a Dorthraki title for the wife of a Khal." He turned his attention back to her, studying her closely. "You been reading about them?"

"No, I haven't even heard about them before. What are the Dorthraki?" The word felt foreign on her tongue and, by the way Sandor laughed, she realized she hadn't pronounced it right. Still, she settled on the rock near the fire and stared at him expectantly, until he growled at her.

"The Dorthraki are nomadic warriors who use horses to travel across the Dorthraki grasslands in Essos."

She remembered where Essos was, but she didn't know much about the Dorthraki. "They're the ones with a Khal and Khaleesi?"

He nodded, turning his attention to the water for the moment. "The Khal leads what they call a Khalasar across the lands, fighting for dominance. The Khaleesi is the Khal's wife, who he has beside him."

They began discussing back and forth, while Sansa tried to understand better about what she'd been dreaming of. Eventually, she made comment, "I'm still trying to figure out about the girl I was dreaming of, Daenerys I think her name was."

Sandor froze at that moment, turning his eyes to her. "Who were you dreaming of?" he demanded, walking up to her.

She jumped, surprised by his sudden change. "O-oh, it was Daenerys. Or Dany. Some called her the Unburnt and M-"

"How the hell did you hear about her?" he snarled, surprising her again. He grabbed hold of her left side, still conscious of the fact her right shoulder still ached often. "You listen to your father while he talked to his men? Or did he just up and tell you all about it?"

"W-what are you talking about, Sandor?" she stammered, eyes wide. "Father never told me anything and I always sat with Septa Mordane whenever we weren't eating. I was just sewing and reading and learning. I never, ever listened to what he was saying."

"Your sister ever say anything?" he growled lowly.

"No!" She looked at the ground guiltily. "We hardly even talked while we were there. I-I blamed her for Lady's death. She would never… not while we were fighting…" Almost reluctant, he released his grip on her. Sansa could feel tears in her eyes, guilty tears for how she'd treated her family. For being such a spoiled girl who thought she would have the world.

He was looking at her, as if she was someone he didn't know for the first time. She hated that look and told him, "It's just stupid dreams. I'm sorry I even brought it up."

She started to get to her feet, when Sandor rasped quietly, "She was a girl that King Robert wanted murdered."

Sansa froze and turned her attention back to Sandor. He wasn't looking at her directly anymore. Clearing her throat, she managed out, "Why did he wanted her killed?"

"She was married off across the sea. She'd been a fugitive since… She's Daenerys Targaryen."

Her heart fairly stopped in her chest. "She's… she was the Mad King's daughter?"

Sandor nodded. Sansa didn't know what to say after that and it seemed neither did the Hound. They stared at each other for several long moments, then Sansa mumbled some excuse and turned away. She didn't think, didn't let her mind wander until after she'd sat back down by her books. She pulled out her little notebook, wrote down what her and Sandor had talked about and stared at the pages. Slowly, very slowly, she began to write out about Daenerys and the possible questions she had about it.

_How had she heard about Dany?_

_Was the girl still alive?_

_Was she as insane as her father before?_

_Is that why she was called the Unburnt?_

_Why did they call her Mother of Dragons?_

She was almost tempted to go back to Sandor about the last question, but instead, she decided to try to find that book about the Children of the Forest again. There hadn't been a whole lot about dragons, but maybe she could find some information about the Targaryens in the book. She sat there, trying to read, but her mind kept going back to the fact she had never heard about this girl before and she actually existed!

She closed her book eventually, sighing, and gathered them all up to put them back in their pack. She would just have to worry about the rest of it later, for now she needed a distraction. She moved her shoulder, feeling a small twinge of pain. She wished she could train with her sword again, but she didn't dare until she'd healed up the rest of the way. Her wound, which had been opened up to another inch or so, was finally healed almost all the way up. They had removed her stitches finally, but she was still careful with how much she moved or used her arm.

So, she went to check on the traps Sandor had set up and the lure lines for the fish. They didn't have a lot to bait the fish in, but it always seemed like they caught one or two every day. It worked for now, but she wondered what they would do for food once they started out again.

As expected, she found three fish for the day, which would most certainly be enough for now. The traps proved to be much more fruitful, for he'd caught two squirrels and a rabbit. Squeamish though she was, Sansa didn't hesitate to walk up and cut each of their throats. It made her sick, but thoughts of the Frey men and how they'd butchered her family made it easier. She didn't understand it, but she thought it was best not to dwell on anything too long. Sandor still cleaned up the animals for her, but she was able to take care of the fish herself.

He looked as if he was finishing up the water himself, so she brought the kills back down near the water. Without a word, he took the squirrels and rabbit and began the task of skinning the rabbit. Sansa sat by the water and began to cut into the fish with her dagger. She just had to take off the head first; it made it easier to not have its eyes staring at her accusingly.

They worked silently side by side, until she and Sandor were rinsing off meat in one of the cooled off buckets of water. Then she said quietly, "I think we should start riding again."

Sandor paused, just for a moment, then grunted, "Don't know where you plan to go. You don't want to go to your aunt-"

"There's Jon, up at the Wall. This way, he can just know I'm alive and well. Then we can work out a plan of action for our next move." She looked up at him, saw the look on his face, and shrugged. "Unless you have a better idea."

He growled at her and said, "Don't have a plan at all, girl. We got plenty of coin for now, could just squat out at some Inns until things clear up with the war."

"What about the free cities? I know you talked about them when we first started traveling…"

"Don't got a clue where you'd possibly want to go, Little Bird," he said, sounding annoyed.

"Anywhere. You can pick. You said we have plenty of coin, probably for passage and a place there we can stay. I'm sure there's plenty for us to do, gives us a place to stay and get accustomed-"

"Can't just up and run off with you like that," he grunted. "Gotta take you somewhere safer than there."

"Sandor," she said firmly, looking at him. Almost reluctant, he looked up at her through the strands of his hair, a not-so-amused expression on his face. She almost giggled, but managed to keep a straight face and told him, "I'm with you. I've told you this many times over, no matter what, you're stuck with me now."

"You'll have to return to your life in Winterfell. You're the last one who can claim the North." Neither of them mentioned the fact that Arya may or may not be alive still. Sansa's hope that her whole family wasn't lost lingered under the surface, but she never dared say it aloud. It would be easier to ignore the pain if she was wrong in the end.

"I can't claim it. We could get some sellswords in the Free Cities or-"

"You'd be better off here, going around and gathering allies. You're not married off, you could offer a marriage to a main household-"

"NO!" For once, the Hound look startled at her sudden outburst. Just thinking about being married off to some stranger set a wave of panic in her. "I refuse to offer myself like an animal to make an alliance. We have plenty of money now and if we were to go to the Free cities, we could earn some extra coin. Eventually, I'll have to return, but it can wait until I have the proper amount of people to take it for me."

Sandor stared at her, as if contemplating her words. They moved from the water, over to the fire to cook the meat, and Sansa settled in beside him. She noticed how close they were, where she could smell just a bit of the wine he'd been drinking that day. While they didn't have an unlimited supply, she noticed he'd developed a bit more moderation so it could last him longer. But she found she didn't mind the smell of wine and sweat on him, it was just how she'd begun to associate him. She didn't know what compelled her do to it, but she ended up resting her head against his bared shoulder and she closed her eyes.

She felt him tense the moment she did, but Sansa thought it better to just ignore it and continue to rest there. Her heart had begun to beat faster and she felt as if she were flying, her chest seemed so light. Her stomach had begun to flutter. It was the reactions she'd noticed whenever she got close to Sandor, ever since they'd shared that one kiss.

Quietly, she asked him, "Do you remember a thing from ten days ago? When you'd passed out so badly?" Or had it been twelve days? She couldn't always keep track.

"Told you girl, don't know a damn thing," he said, sounding annoyed. She sighed, feeling an unexpected wave of disappointment. She was so confused, she just wished there was a way she could talk to him about it! But he seemed more interested in getting her home and away from him as quickly as possible.

Surprisingly, shortly after, Grey Wind appeared across the water, muzzle covered red. He started through the water and came right over to her, panting, but looking pleased. Sansa giggled as he nuzzled up to her, spreading the bloody residue over her hands. She stood up, grabbed a cloth from the ground and dipped it into the already soiled water. She crouched down and wiped at the direwolf's muzzle. He sat patiently while she dabbed at the blood on his muzzle until he was clean. He followed her back over to the fire where the food was cook and settled out beside her.

"I want to start moving again. We can start out going to some Inns and work our ways towards the Wall and the docks too," Sansa told him finally.

Sandor grunted in return and muttered, "Fine." He handed her over a spit of squirrel for her to eat and pulled off the rest himself. Reluctantly, she bit into the gamey meat and didn't say anything about the fact the meat tasted less than good. She was certainly not a squirrel person, but she knew rabbit tasted worse and she was getting tired of fish.

They sat by the fire, eating and thinking until the sun had begun to set. Breaking the silence, Sandor told her, "Get the packs ready, we'll head out early tomorrow." Sansa nodded eagerly, thanking him and getting to her feet instantly. She started towards the cavern with Grey Wind at her heels.

She put together their packs as much as she possibly could, only keeping out the barest essentials they would need for the night. Sandor came back shortly after with the fish and rabbit wrapped up as best as they could in the forest. He stored them in an empty pack, one that had carried their food previously, and then told Sansa, "Settle out for the night. We'll leave at dawn."

She nodded, giving him a brief smile as she got the sleeping mat settled out on the cool ground. Thankfully, the ground was mossy, so it gave them a bit of cushioning while they slept and it wasn't as dirty as the hard ground for Sandor. He still refused to ever take a night to rest of the mat, even at her insistence. Grey Wind wandered up and settled in front of her, so she was warm from the front. She knew Sandor would sleep behind her, so that neither of them would be too chilled. At least then none of them would be cold during the night, especially combined with the cloaks.

It was dark enough now, it didn't take much for Sansa to close her eyes and snuggle up close to Grey Wind. The direwolf curled up into her, his nose tucked under his tail. They lay like that for some time. Sansa felt as if she was in-between the stages of awake and asleep. She was aware of all that was going on, as she listened to Sandor move around and drink, but she didn't open her eyes so she could rest. She was like that for some time, until finally, slowly she sank down in the warm embrace of sleep.

**~A/N~**

**Sorry this has taken so long to get updated! It was a lot of rewriting and editing and then I was waiting to have my other SanSan fanfic finished so I could publish them both at the same time. Hope you all enjoyed this chapter ! You have no clue how much I appreciate the reviews and favs!**

**R&amp;R**

**XmX**


	16. Chapter 16: Swords

**Chapter Sixteen: Swords**

Starting out in the morning was interesting indeed. The morning was chilly, a bit frosty and definitely wet. Fog filtered through the trees, so thick and heavy she could barely see two feet ahead of herself as Sansa stumbled out of the cave, yawning widely. Neither she nor Sandor had to be up at the crack of dawn since they'd left the Inn, so it was quite a wakeup call. Sansa was groggy, sleepy and a bit grumpy as Sandor gruffly told her to go over near the fire and wash herself down. There were buckets that he'd fastened out of wood and a cloth to wipe herself off with. When she dipped in the cloth, she was mildly surprised to find the water had already been heated up so she wouldn't be even colder in the morning chill.

Wiping down had never felt so good. She hadn't tried bathing properly while her arm was healing again, so to feel the warmth of the rag and to actually scrub off all of the grime felt amazing. She fairly stripped down to her underclothes in an attempt to clean up, not worried about Sandor or anyone else spying her in the fog. She ran her hands through her dirty locks, watching as more of the dark color bled out of her hair onto her hands. She wondered just how much of it was gone now and whether or not she'd have to color it again.

Eventually, she tugged back on the grimy clothes she'd been wearing, only until she got herself changed into a clean pair of clothes. She regretted not grabbing her clothes before heading down to the water. She trudged back up there, noticing that Stranger and Malia were saddled once more, but Sandor was missing. She assumed he was out relieving himself. She wandered over to the pack she recognized held all of her clothes and she scrounged through the bag until she found the dark dress and breeches she'd been wearing before she'd been injured. She pulled off the dirty tunic and breeches she was wearing. She pressed out the moisture left in her hair, worried the color might bleed over her garments. She noticed a lot of the dark color was left on the tunic. Once she was adequately comfortable that nothing would bleed, she changed into the clean garments.

Just as she was lacing up the last of her dress, Sandor appeared out of the woods, still looking grumpy, but not too unhappy. They didn't say much to each other, although Sandor did hand her some food to eat for breakfast. She took it without saying a word, yawning widely as she pulled herself up onto Malia. The mare whinnied, adjusted to her weight and continued chewing on the grass in front of her. Sandor untied her reigns and then got up onto Stranger himself. For several moments, the two stared at each other, as if waiting to see if the other would say anything. Finally, Sandor grunted and said, "We'll head out North for now."

She nodded her consent, chewing on some dried fish and a bit of berries. Swallowing, she said, "How long should it be until we get to the Wall?"

"Probably couple weeks, we move quick enough," he said, turning Stranger and starting out into the woods. With a press of her heels, Sansa started Malia after the Hound.

Riding again was a different experience than what she remembered. By the first four hours, she was sore again and a bit uncomfortable in the saddle. Her shoulder wasn't comfortable with the jolting and the constant movement and by lunchtime Sansa felt ready to fall over. Still, she ate all that he gave her, drank water, and relaxed until he told her it was time to get moving. Then they started up all over again.

At night, they settled out wherever looked comfortable enough and had enough shelter from wandering strangers. Sansa stripped down and waddled into the river to get washed up before dinner, trying to keep so much of the grime off of herself. She was careful to not get any water near her shoulder, in case it was still open at all. When she managed to get her hair into the river without submerging her wound, she watched as the color continued to bleed into the water. Reluctantly, she continued to scrub, until the water was clear. Grey Wind was close by, splashing through the water. Glancing over her shoulder, Sandor still had his back to her, as he'd promised. He sat by the fire he started, warming up the rabbit that had been in their packs. Sansa was sure that he could probably eat it all himself, but they'd eaten what was left of the fish for breakfast and lunch.

Eventually, he called her over to eat. Whistling, Sansa called back Grey Wind as she tugged her clothes back over herself and wandered back to the fire. Grey Wind reluctantly followed, fish in mouth, and began to eat beside her.

Sansa talked about the plans for the following day, more riding and less stops. The Hound insisted on stopping at an Inn in the next several days, so they could gather up some supplies. Sansa wanted to push that off though, her energy hadn't been waned enough yet. He was reluctant. When she offered a later start in the morning, as well as setting up some of the traps and lures to catch some extra meat, he agreed.

He started off into the woods to set up a couple traps to catch a few squirrels or rabbits. Sansa did the same for the lures in the river, hopeful that they could catch something. She knew his would take a bit more time to set up, so while she waited, she got ready for bed. She laid out the sleeping mat across the forest floor and then pulled out the cloaks. She settled out the white cloak behind the sleeping mat, aware that Sandor would want to sleep close by the flames, but he didn't like being too close to them. So, she was like a wall for him, so he would still be able to stay warm. Thankfully, the ground was mossy, so the cloak wouldn't get too dirty. She double checked Malia and Stranger's reigns, so the horses wouldn't be able to wander off, and then settled out on the sleeping mat.

It was just starting to get dark when the Hound finally wandered back into camp, cursing. He took one look at the set up for the night and opened his mouth to ask her a question, but she quickly blurted out, "I checked all the reigns and got the lures set up in the river, just like you showed me before. It felt like it was getting a bit chilly, so I thought if we slept closer together, we might stay warmer…" She trailed off, waiting for his response.

He just grunted, walked over and spread out across the cloak. She used the other one to wrap it around herself and settled up on her side facing the flames. Grey Wind curled up between Sandor and Sansa's feet to keep them a bit warmer.

Despite the fact it was getting dark, Sansa found she couldn't sleep. She laid there for some time, her heart pounding. She didn't want to get up, knowing she would most likely disturb her companions that were trying to sleep. A quick glance down at her feet told her that Grey Wind already had his eyes closed. From the way Sandor had begun breathing and that he'd started muttering in his sleep told her he was sleeping too. She could feel the rise and fall of his chest with each breath, even though they weren't pressed up to each other. Still, she could feel his presence, as if she were hyperaware of him constantly. She tried not to think of what had happened, that they'd kissed at one point.

But her mind continued to wander back to it constantly, like she wanted to dwell on what had happened. She tried pressing the memory from her mind, but it refused to move, stuck forever in that same loop again and again.

Eventually, she managed to doze in a fitful sleep, dreaming of kisses and wine and fire and blood.

The next day started out about the same. They managed to catch four fish and two squirrels that night, so Sandor used their fire pit to cook up the food. Sansa wandered over to the water to try to splash some of the tiredness from her eyes. When she looked into the river, she was mildly surprised to see the bright color of her auburn locks, maybe just a bit more dulled down from the color. Immediately, she turned to Sandor and, as she trudged up to him, she said, "We might have a problem."

He looked up at her, a scowl already on his face. Immediately, his eyes found her hair. He cursed, and muttered, "Damn woman said it should've lasted longer."

"Is this…? Will it be a problem?"

"Gonna have to work with it. Don't got a choice until we get further North." Sansa nodded and settled down beside him near the flames. The morning was chilly again, although there was less fog than before. She wondered if they were getting close enough to the Northern territory to start to feel the effects of winter.

Once the fish was cooked through, they scarfed down one each without much thought while the squirrels cooked. Sansa thought while she was eating. She considered mentioning the fact she'd dreamt about Daenerys again, but after a moment she decided not to. She was afraid he would look at her as if she were crazy again. So, she didn't say much and he didn't say anything back to her either.

She communicated her thoughts about their travels while they were riding, asking questions about where they might stop and anybody else he might know to help them out. Otherwise, they were mostly silent. Grey Wind looped on ahead of them, never fully in sight, but if Sansa called him back he was able to get to her quick enough. This time, she insisted they rode through lunch, to try to make better time in the long run. Sandor didn't even try arguing with her and pushed them through until late evening. She ached a bit between her legs when she got down, but overall she felt much better than the first day.

They'd settled down near the flames almost immediately after eating in complete silence. Already the temperature outside was freezing. She could see a bit of frost cumulating on the ground, near the edge of their fire. She wrapped herself up as tightly as she could and squeezed her eyes shut. But sleep was going to be tough. She could hardly stop shaking, it was so bad. Eventually, she twisted around, so she faced Sandor. She could tell he wasn't asleep yet, so she timidly asked him, "Is it okay if I move over a bit? It's just-" With a squeak, Sansa was tugged over so she and Sandor were fairly pressed up against each other.

Her heart was hammering in her chest and felt like it was in her throat. She could hardly swallow, she almost started shaking. Her skin felt like it was on fire. She was so startled by her reaction for a moment she couldn't make a sound or move an inch. Sandor eventually grumbled, "You gonna calm down, Little Bird? I won't bite ya."

Reluctantly, she nodded her head jerkily and forced herself to relax. She focused on deep breaths, tried not to think about the fact she was touching him or that he was so close to her she could kiss him again if she wanted. She tried not to focus on the fact… It was just, she'd never felt quite as comfortable with anyone else as she did with Sandor...

She squeezed her eyes shut and counted until she was too exhausted to stay awake.

They continued riding through the next several days, only stopping at night despite the chill that was filtering into the upper North. After the third night, Sandor insisted they stopped at an Inn to rest because it was getting much too cold, even with the fire and the extra body heat. She wanted nothing more than to be in a decent bed, but she didn't know if they were far enough away where she wouldn't run into Frey men. On top of it, she was worried about the fact her hair was almost completely back to its natural auburn color again. But Sandor didn't seem too concerned… Sansa finally agreed to stop at an Inn for the evening. They rode just until they found another Inn on the King's Road. It looked relatively empty with only a few horses in the stable, so Sandor figured this was their stop.

There was no stable boy to put the horses away, so Sansa helped put Malia away, then sat and watched while Sandor worked taking care of Stranger. While waiting, she also wandered out enough to send Grey Wind off for the evening, until she could call him back later. The direwolf seemed to understand exactly what she said and left without a backward glance. Sansa didn't worry about him running off for an instant, the wolf seemed keen on staying by her side.

She walked back into the stables near Sandor. Without a word, he handed over their things. She took the packs he handed her silently, stringing together three of them and just throwing them over her shoulder. He also handed her the sword she hadn't picked up since the bloodbath at the Twins. More reluctant, she strapped the sword to her side where she could cover it with her cloak. He put the other three packs over his shoulder and they started into the Inn. As he passed her to get in front, Sandor tugged the hood of her cloak over her head and told her, "Tuck in your hair." She did so immediately, only pausing a moment to make sure it was in place. She hunched her shoulders and tried to make herself as invisible as possible behind the larger man.

Noise from the Inn could be heard outside. It sounded like there were several more people there compared to the horses in the barn, but Sandor didn't seem too concerned in the least. When they opened the door and stepped inside, the entire hall had fallen silent. Sansa didn't dare look up for an instant, keeping her cloak drawn close and hoping no one could tell she was actually a girl at all. Her hair tickled the back of her neck. She swallowed nervously, aware that people were probably staring at them. But she only focused on Sandor's steps until he led them up to the man who seemed to be in charge. She knew he would have directed her to a table had he felt it was okay for her to sit down.

It was as if she could feel all of the eyes on her as she continued to stand beside Sandor. The Inn keeper and he worked out a negotiation for the night, some supplies to be made up for a certain price, and the price to house Stranger and Malia underroof also. He didn't make mention of the smoke grey direwolf Sansa was sure to try to bring in that night. Sandor arranged dinner to be brought over shortly and took a whole flask of wine to drink while they waited. Sansa just got water, as usual. She didn't mind in the least.

As they turned and started towards a table, the hall still utterly silent, Sandor rasped quietly, "Don't look up for a moment, don't say no word. These are some Lannister men here and Frey alike."

"Can't we just head upstairs now?" she asked, so quietly she almost thought Sandor didn't hear her.

"Don't got a clean room available yet," he replied, sounding a bit more irritated.

They sat at a table without another word to each other. Sansa tried to keep focused on the tabletop, but the soft murmuring that had begun and the squeals of some poor girl kept drawing her attention until she risked a quick peek. She spotted several men she didn't recognize, a whole group of them sitting at a table staring at her and Sandor both. One of the men had hold of a woman, who looked very upset to be dragged onto some stranger's lap. She tried fighting the man off, but Sansa could see it was a losing battle for her.

The only saving grace about the whole situation was the fact all the men were only focused on Sandor.

A glance at him told Sansa he was focused intently on the flagon in front of himself. He refused to acknowledge any of the men looking their way. Sansa focused on the small cup of water in front of her, although she was hesitant to even pick up the cup…

She heard the sound of the bench sliding back and froze.

The footsteps approached them, closer and closer, until they stopped in front of their table. Sansa was so tense she could hardly breathe. Immediately, her hand went to the hilt of her sword and, even though her shoulder wasn't fully healed, Sansa knew she could defend herself at least until Sandor could help her. A quick glance down told her the Hound was coming out to play. His hand was already wrapped around his hilt and he'd barely begun to slide it out of the scabbard, when someone sat down at the table with a hard thump. Sansa flinched immediately, even though she knew better than to do that. She didn't dare look up. She felt as if her throat had constricted and she couldn't breathe. Her hands started to shake a bit, so she clasped onto the table to stabilize her free hand. She gripped harder onto the hilt of her sword.

"Well, well, well if it isn't the Hound. Wha' ya doin' so far up North?" one man asked, sounding curious.

Sansa tried to place his voice without looking up, but she didn't recognize it at all. Then Sandor spoke, voice raspy, "The fuck do you want outta me, Polliver? Thought you were off with the Mountain…" He took another large swallow of wine, sounding unusually loud in the quiet inn.

"Been riding with him too, we 'ave. Not so pretty, watchin' that man gut children, rape the girls. All just messy business with him, it is."

"That's to expect out of him," Sandor muttered darkly, sounding far from pleased to be hearing the conversation.

"Harin' some interestin' things bout ya too, Hound," another man interrupted, sounding a bit slurred.

The Hound growled and snapped, "Who the fuck are you? Some little prissy brat?"

"That there is the new Squire," a third voice said. Sansa's heart almost sank. Were they surrounded?

"Tickler," the Hound grunted, still sounding far from pleased. "Ya'll got somethin' you want outta me?"

"We heard ya run off with a much wanted prize in the South," the man she now dubbed as "the Squire" continued, still sounding extremely drunk. "That the girl right there?"

Immediately, Sansa tensed, sensing the eyes trained on her. She huddled further down in the cloak while simultaneously sliding her sword out as discreetly as possible.

"Got no girl there," Sandor grumbled, sounding disgusted. "Some stray boy found wanderin' the woods a while back. Good to find some food, not much else. Don't talk none either, can't complain too much 'bout it."

"Ya fled from Black Water bay, you're telling me ya not had nothin' ta do with the Stark girl's disappearance?"

He glared fiercely at the Squire, who gotten to his feet. "I wouldn't grab such a useless girl to take with me. Woulda been smarter to grab the Wolf bitch before she scurried off. At least that bitch isn't useless." Sansa almost tensed at the words, but she forced herself to breathe in deeply. She could only barely convince herself it was just a lie.

Suddenly, the benches scooted back. Before she or Sandor could react, the Squire grabbed hold of Sansa, yanked her off of the bench and wrapped his scrawny arm around her neck. She didn't dare yank her sword out of hiding quite yet. She met Sandor's eye, who had a sword pointed to his neck too. She would wait-

Her hood was yanked off, tugging some of her locks of hair painfully. Immediately, she focused her eyes on the other men in front of her, a tall lanky man without much muscle and another rather average guy. But the looks in their eyes as they looked at her was enough to make her shiver. "Well, this here not no scrawny boy, Hound. Looks like we found us a Stark in the midst," the bald man said, sneering at the Hound. The Squire tightened his hold on Sansa and chuckled darkly.

The Hound snarled and threatened, "Let the girl go and get out of this fucking Inn. Else, I'm gonna be guttin' me some fucking men today, Polliver."

The man, Polliver threw back his bald head and laughed heartily. "Ya think you're in any position to be making negotiations? We got the girl, you're outnumbered-" It was at that moment, Sansa saw the way Sandor looked at her. She understood what he was saying at once. It was the look he'd trained her to recognize. As quick as possible, she smacked back her head against the Squire's. His grip on her loosened, enough where she could slip away. In that same instant, Sandor immediately swung up his sword, blocking the swing Polliver almost made at him. The Tickler jumped in with Polliver to try to take out the Hound. Their table crashed to the ground, throwing off the two Lannister men that tried to jump over it.

That left Sansa with the drunk Squire.

She pulled her sword out from underneath her cloak, eyes focused on the man in front of her. Thankfully, everyone else in the Inn had no reason to jump in on the fray, so Sansa only needed to keep an eye on Polliver and the Tickler in case they decided to try to grab her. The squire was swaying on his feet, sneering at Sansa and fumbling the sword in his hand. She was hoping she'd have a bit of an advantage with him being so unsteady on his feet.

He lunged.

Sansa brought the sword in front of her, catching the Squire's blade just inches away from her face. She used all the strength she could in her injured arm, her shoulder screaming, and shoved him back. He stumbled and she used that advantage to downcut on him, cleanly ripping through his tunic and bringing a well of blood to the surface. The Squire fairly screamed at her, rushed forward. She easily sidestepped, moving so she had all of the men in her sight and the wall was to her back. Her eyes flickered to Sandor briefly, saw as he battered one man and then the other. He took hold of the Tickler's head and smashed his face as hard as he could into the table. But then Polliver slashed at Sandor, catching his arm and bloodying the ex-Knight further.

Sansa's heart clenched.

She focused on the Squire, who tried stabbing the blade at her. She barely moved to the side, then hefted her sword and swung down as hard as she could across his torso. Blood splattered everywhere, covering Sansa in a sheen of red. It began to seep out everywhere, but the Squire stepped forward, barely wavering even as he bled across the floor. Sansa raised the sword again, steeling herself for the fact she would have to probably stab him straight through.

She thought about what these Lannister men probably did to members of her Household, of the men that served House Stark.

She could imagine them standing there, watching her father being beheaded.

Or killing her Brother and Mother, leaving them a mess on the ground.

Her hands stopped shaking and she began to stare at the man in a whole new light, her lip curled in almost a snarl.

And, as the man stepped up close to her, he surprised her by suddenly dropping his sword, running at her, and reaching hold. Her sword didn't reach him in time, barely grazed him as he grabbed hold of her. They went down in a tumble of limbs and screeches. Their swords spun out across the room out of reach. She was pinned to the ground, fairly screaming, attempting to break free from his grasp. He fumbled with her, a sick grin on his face as he began to grab hold of her, anywhere. He pressed down as hard as he could into her shoulders, limiting her move of her arms as she struggled, kicking, biting, twisting in any attempt to free herself. Her shoulder shrieked at the pressure, limiting her strength as she fought.

He grappled with her arms until he'd managed to catch one wrist. She tried beating against his chest, her breaths heaving. Then he wrapped his other hand around her throat. She let out one last shriek before he cut her off. She tried to struggle as much as she could, racking her nails across his face, his throat. She tried to make any noise, kicked out, but nothing seemed to be able to shake the Squire off of her.

She almost didn't hear the crash of glass, was only focused on the fact her vision was spotting and her chest began to burn. Faintly, she heard people screaming.

Then there was the heavy snarl and the Squire squealed in pain. For a moment, Sansa focused on the yellow eyes of the direwolf in front of her, clamped down on the Lannister man's shoulder, and then the Squire was yanked off of her. Sansa rolled over coughing, her eyes solely fixed on the scene as Grey Wind ripped into the man that had almost killed her. She almost sobbed, hand to her throat.

The clashing of steel and Sandor's scream pulled her attention across the room. She could see Polliver and the Tickler had Sandor cornered, both men coming at him with blades swinging. They didn't seem to notice the fact a direwolf had joined in the fray. The men just clashed together, as they cursed and swung and used whatever advantages they could to get at each other. Sansa didn't think about it; she just stepped over, grabbed hold of her sword and ran towards the scene.

Neither of the men noticed as Sansa sidled up behind them. Sansa took a chance, slid the blade across the back of Polliver's knees.

Immediately, the man collapsed to the ground, screaming and cursing. He focused on Sansa in front of him, raised his blade and swung at her. He caught her knees, opening her breeches and leaving a trail of blood trickling down her leg. She didn't know how to react, just stepped enough away from him that he couldn't reach her. She stared at the man, trying to see if she could have placed him at any moment when her family was killed.

She couldn't think of anything. She couldn't find a reason to kill him.

Even though he worked for the Lannisters, she never knew of one thing he'd actually done to her family.

Grey Wind slinked up beside her, teeth bared. Her hand immediately went into his fur, relishing in the familiar feeling as she stared at the man who'd lost his courage. She whispered to Grey Wind, "Go help Sandor." She could feel the direwolf tense, but then he snapped his teeth at Polliver and jumped towards the Tickler.

Without the direwolf beside her, Polliver sneered again and spat, "Can't finish me off yaself, eh girly? Don't surprise me none. I heard plenty enough about ya when they sent us all alookin' in the roads." Sansa didn't reply, continued to stare at the man as he started to laugh. "Called ya Little dove? Too scared to do anything, but pretend like we're all good Knights in shining armor. I can help ya out girl, take ya far back to your pretty tower to be played with. Is that what you want?" He'd begun to taunt her, laughing and watching her. She kept her face blank, but didn't move.

Her eyes flickered over towards Sandor and Grey Wind, who'd managed to finish off the man now collapsed on the ground. But she could see Sandor was leaning heavily against the wall, the direwolf near him, ears back. When she fixed her eyes back on Polliver, she spoke, "I'm not the same girl in King's Landing. I have a family, a pack I need to protect. You work for the men that murdered my father. Somehow, you probably helped plot the slaughter of my Mother and Brother. My sister is missing, probably dead."

She could feel Sandor's eyes on her as she stepped up to the man on the ground. He raised his sword, as if he could defend her off. She took her sword, pressed down with the tip until Polliver's forearm was stuck in the floor of the Inn, and stepped up so she was towering over his form. She glanced down at his belt, noticed the other blade at his side and crouched down to slide it out.

She'd never seen a sword like it, the blade was so thin it was almost like one of the needles Sansa used to sew with. It was as light as a feather in her hand. She stood up again, head cocked to the side as she studied the blade. When she focused on Polliver again, the man looked utterly terrified. This time, she didn't need to steel herself for what she was going to have to do. She'd seen Grey Wind kill, she knew Sandor didn't have the energy to continue to fight.

These men had tried to hurt her pack.

And that was enough.

She told Polliver loud enough that he could hear, "Remember, the North never forgets." Then she took the small blade and pressed into his chest, straight through his heart.

She could hear his scream in pain once, then he fell silent as he bled out on the floor. She pulled out both of the swords, wiped off the tip on his tunic and turned back towards her companions. As soon as she's to their side, Sandor is quickly muttering, "Gotta get outta here, Little Bird."

She wanted to argue with him, but she saw the wide eyed look he had and the bit of fear he had on his face. She told him, "We just need some supplies first. Have a seat, I need to look at your wounds."

She ignored the fact both the Inn Keeper and the rest of its occupants stared at them like they were crazy. She focused on looking over Sandor and planning how much food she could get with what money. She didn't even think about it as she slid the small blade into one of her belt loops.

**~A/N~**

**I'm so sorry for the long wait! ****It took me forever to get this chapter updated and written just right. I was worried I'd make Sansa too much like Arya in this chapter, so I played around with several different scenarios. This one ended up making the most sense. ****Hopefully you all enjoyed the chapter! ****Thank you for your patience**

**R&amp;R**

**XmX**


	17. Chapter Seventeen: Admittance

**Chapter Seventeen: Admittance**

"I should really clean out these wounds with some wine, Sandor," Sansa insisted as she wiped off his chest with a warm washing cloth. He needed many, many stitches across his chest and biceps. He was extremely drunk off of the wine and he snarled at her when she tried to boil any to clean the wounds. He had chugged most of the wine as they'd been riding and now he finished off what little was left. He threw the empty flask on the ground. She closed her eyes in frustration and counted to ten.

They had fled out to the forest following the battle with Polliver and the Tickler. The Inn Keeper hadn't chased them out, but Sansa could clearly see what everyone saw as soon as she looked at them. She was afraid they would try to sell her off, back to King's Landing. The Hound had a different idea as to why they had to leave ("The Mountain is here somewhere close. We gotta get out, Little Bird. You DO NOT want to meet that cunt."). After paying for a collection of food and an extra flask of wine (the Inn Keeper couldn't be persuaded to give out any more and Sansa wouldn't let him use force to get some), Sandor had gotten onto Stranger, and she onto Malia and they left as quickly as they could. Once they were far enough into the forest, Sansa pulled Malia up next to Stranger. She saw the blood soaking his ripped tunic and insisted they should stop. He almost argued with her, but it was clear he wouldn't be able to sit up on Stranger much longer.

Now, she didn't know what to do with him. She had nothing to clean his wounds with, except boiled water, and she didn't feel like that was sanitary enough. He had a different opinion about it altogether. When she refused to start stitching on him immediately, he tried doing it himself. She scolded him, took the needle out of his hand, and had him rest up against the tree. She used a washing cloth and the boiled water to wipe off the wounds as best as she could, ignoring his cursing as she pressed the needle under the surface of the skin and came out back on the other side. His first gash, diagonally across his chest, required ten stitches alone. It hadn't been deep, but Sansa didn't dare let anything stay open for possible infection. The second gash, on his torso, was a bit deeper and was still bleeding a bit. She almost decided to wait and let the wound finish draining, but she worried more that he might end up bleeding out if she didn't close it up.

After a bit of contemplation, she decided to leave it be just a few more minutes and focused on the wound to his bicep. It was deep, but it had stopped bleeding. She wiped at it with another cloth, until the skin was clean and the wound didn't look dirty. She stitched it up quickly, totaling six more. The last gash she could see was across his back and by far the largest. It stretched from his shoulder all the way to his lower back. The wound was mildly deep, but not so bad that she was too concerned.

It was the worst one to stitch. She wished they hadn't used all the Milk of the Poppy for her wounds. Sandor twitched and growled and snapped at her every time she pressed in the needle. She wiped at the wound between each stitch, ignored his cursing, and finally had him lean against a tree so she could get his torso. By this point, the wine had kicked in and he'd stopped cursing her. His torso totaled in 8 stitches and looked a bit messier than the rest of her work. She hoped it would help him heal up quicker.

She couldn't get him up on his feet, much less onto a horse. With a sigh, she got up and grabbed all three cloaks they had stashed in the packs and the sleeping mat. After a bit of prodding (he was pretty docile at this point), Sandor was sprawled out across the mat and covered with his old White cloak. She tucked his extra one under his head.

The sky had gotten dark and the chill had started to set in. She was quick to tie up Malia and Stranger, even though the war horse rarely left his Master's side, then went about collecting up a pile of wood for the fire. She wanted to keep them as warm as possible for as long as possible while he rested. She wondered if he would care that she curled up with him for the night…

By the time she had a decent fire going, much more quickly done thanks to his flint, she settled out by the fire and stitched up Sandor's tunic. He only had one spare and she didn't want to waste this one if she could help it. She doubted her stitches were very well done in the dark and with only the lights of the flame to go by. But she was pleased to finish it so quickly. Yawning widely, she stashed away his tunic. Then she lay out with her cloak under her and curled up with Sandor under the white cloak so her back was to him. Grey Wind curled up in front of her, so she could wrap her arms around his thick coat and fall asleep warm on both sides.

The air was still chilly all night long. Her stomach began to growl only two hours into the night, but she didn't dare get up. Sandor mumbled in his sleep, sounding angry and in pain. She sat up frequently, disturbing the direwolf and hearing his grumble, as she checked on Sandor. She worried and worried all night, checking all of his wounds except his back. By the time she was finally dosing off, the sun was beginning to peak over the horizon.

She felt like she only closed her eyes a moment and then she was jolted awake. Sandor was trying to get up, but it looked like he was still week. She got up and helped him to his feet. He shook her off when she suggested helping. He sneered at her and said, "I doubting you wanna watch me piss, girl." She flushed, but it must have been what he was looking for because she did let him go off by himself. She rolled up the mat, put away the white cloak, and pulled out a bit of food for breakfast.

It took Sandor several minutes before he managed to wander back into camp. She handed him the food she'd pulled out, but he'd brushed it off and said, "Gotta keep moving, Little Bird. The Mountain is holed up around here somewhere, can't stay around for too long." He sounded a bit off, but she didn't question him as he swung up into Stranger's saddle and took the food she offered once more. Quickly, she untied Malia, got up into the saddle, and followed after Sandor.

The morning dragged on. Sansa was slumped over in her saddle more often than not, exhausted and wanting to sleep. Sandor didn't seem to notice, hadn't even looked back at her once. He looked tense and slouched over, like he was in pain still. She wished there was some way to help him. She would do anything she could right now-

He started to tip over in the saddle. She watched, eyes wide, as he swayed one last time and then slipped right off the saddle. He crumpled to the ground. "Sandor!" she screamed, pulling Malia to a halt and sliding off her saddle before the mare was fully stopped. She fell down to his side and rolled him as best as she could over the ground to see his face. He was unconscious and hot to the touch. "No, no, no, no," she mumbled, fairly tearing the stitches of his tunic all the way open to look at his wounds. They were red and angry, a clear sign he was developing an infection.

She hopped up to her feet and tore back over towards the mare. Malia had wandered off a bit, but she was easy to catch and Sansa pulled out one of the cloaks. She tied the mare to Stranger's saddle and went back to the fallen ex-Knight. She pulled out the brush underneath Sandor and put the cloak under his head once more. Grey Wind came crashing through the trees, hearing Sansa's shriek. As soon as he spotted the Hound, he was by the man's side, whining and nudging the man as he lay there. "Stay with him," the redhead told the direwolf. She needed to get some wine boiling. Surely there was a bit left in one of the flasks! She scrambled to the packs on Stranger and peeked into each flask. Empty! She started to go through the rest of his bags, panicking. Surely he had some sort of hidden stash, something at all she could use to save his life.

It wasn't until she reached the very last bag. There was a flask, nestled all the way in the bottom of the rucksack, with just enough wine she could pour over his wounds. She set to getting a fire together immediately. She gathered up as many twigs and leaves as she could then piled them up near Sandor. The flint started to spark almost immediately and caught on the dried leaves. She grabbed random logs as the fire grew to life. Soon enough, it was alive enough she could get the bowl. She pulled it off of the ground, the items of the packs scattered everywhere, and poured everything she could of the wine into it. While she waited for the wine to start boiling, she turned back to Sandor grimly. She knew exactly what she was going to have to do.

She pulled out her dagger and stepped up towards him. She moved aside his tunic, looked at the angry wounds of his chest. The infection looked mild enough, surely she could just open the wounds and clean them up again. She pressed the blade against her first stitch and pressed down with the sharp steel. The line cut easily. She looked up at Sandor's face, didn't even notice a twitch of a muscle. She did the same with the next stitch. And the next. Once every stitch was cut from his first wound, she moved onto his torso. She did the same there, keeping an eye to make sure she didn't disturb Sandor. He was out cold.

By this point the wine was boiling. She used a cloak to hold onto the serving bowl and placed it on the ground beside him. She used one of the empty flasks to scoop up the wine and, without waiting, dumped it onto the open wounds.

Sandor woke up screaming. She grabbed hold of his thrashing arm before he had a chance to knock over the hot wine. He was so strong. It didn't take much for him to smack her across the face, and knock her to the ground. She didn't even think about it, didn't let herself feel the blooming pain in her cheek. She yelled at him, "Sandor stop!" He looked as feverish as he felt, eyes hazed over and angry looking. He cursed at her, growling angrily. She pressed forward, "I need you to turn onto your side, it'll help with the pain."

When he didn't immediately turn over, just let that wine sit on his skin and in the wounds, she came over to his side and started to turn him over. Well, as best as she could. He struggled for a moment and, together, they managed to get him onto his side. It was obvious he got a major relief from the pain in his wounds. His torso had begun to weep red a bit, but Sansa thought that was a better sign. It would help drain any of the infection. She helped him back onto his back and told him, "I'm going to stitch you back up after I clean everything back up." She was confident enough the thread was sterile, after all it had been in her sack tucked away from everything else. Surely that would be good enough.

She talked with him as she stitched him back up and reluctantly, she added, "I need to do this again, Sandor, with your arm and your back-"

"Fuck that," he snapped, trying to wrench away from her. Immediately, a wave of pain washed over him and he groaned in pain.

"It'll be better after this, I promise," she told him softly, watching him as he tried rolling away from her. "I just need you on your side. I'll do your back as quick as I can and then I can do your arm while you rest."

She didn't give him much of an option. He seemed to think about it just for an instant. When he nodded his consent, she didn't bother waiting to see if he'd change his mind. She went right for cutting the stitches. This time, she slit down his back, just enough to open up the stitches. She could feel his muscles tense under her fingertips, bunching and releasing even as she removed each thread and prepared to spill the wine down his back.

He screamed again, raspy, and almost sobbing. She imagined it hurt twice as much as hers ever did and with the memories of being burned by the fire, it had to make it so much worse. She talked to him as much as she could, murmuring apologizes and talking nonsense as she cleaned his wound. This one looked the unhealthiest, oozing a bit of puss and much angrier. She worked hard to clean out every inch of the wound, used the wine twice to make sure everything was cleaned through. When she was stitching him back up, she imagined it was almost as numb as her shoulder had been once.

He didn't even flinch as he settled back down on his back and what was left of his tunic. Thankfully the access to the gash on his bicep was easy to reach, so he could lay there and relax while she worked on that wound. He didn't even flinch when she sliced open his stitches or unthreaded each one from his skin. He barely tensed when she poured the wine down his arm, using the last of what they had, and when she began to wipe out the wound, he only shifted.

By the time she had his wound stitched, Sandor looked like he was ready to pass out again. "Just stay with me a few more minutes," she told the Hound. She was quick to pull out the sleeping mat, their last cloak, and a fresh tunic for Sandor to wear. She didn't want to leave his wounds open and exposed. She managed to get him to sit up, the pain clear on his face. She helped pull the new tunic over his head, then she settled him on the mat near the fire. She wrapped him up with the White Cloak.

It didn't take him long to fall asleep. It was clear the fever was still on him, fierce and unrelenting as it ravished through his body. She knew he would be fine for the time being, so she went to look the river. They stayed close enough to it that she wouldn't have to walk far. She hoped anyway. First, she gathered up all there supplies, putting the items back as well as she could. Then she gathered up the flasks for water and stuffed them into their only empty pack. It was then her hand brushed against her sword.

Her new sword. This little thin-bladed sword that was so light it was like a feather. She wondered where the man, Polliver, had gotten it from. He would not have had this sword, it would have been too small for him and too light. Did he pick it off of some boy on the road? That still didn't make a lot of sense either, because this was high quality steel, she could tell after cleaning up between the Sandor's sword and the one Catriona had given her. This one had a high quality like Sandor's. She thought about it as she started towards the river, keeping an eye on which direction she went and tying strips of Sandor's torn tunic to the trees to find her way back.

She tried not to think about anything else.

She didn't dare contemplate what it could mean if his infection turned to rot.

Instead, she thought about her sword, about her dreams, about her books, even about Grey Wind. She thought of nothing else. She refused to let her mind wander for an instant. Because he would be fine, she wouldn't let anything happen to him. She would keep him alive and he would get well again. She would make sure of it.

She tried to ignore the way her hands had started to shake a bit as she pulled out the flasks and dipped them into the water. She filled each one of them up to their capacity and, once that was done, set up a trap to try to catch some fish. They had dried strips of meat and plenty of bread, but Sansa worried about saving as much food as possible. Sandor would probably need the extra food while he was recovering after all and she could come back to check on the lines in the morning.

Once she felt satisfied with her work and she'd glanced around a bit for some berries and plants she could dig up some roots, Sansa headed back to the ex-Knight. He was still unconscious. She heated up the water she'd collected to boil it for a few minutes and used the last flask of water to help cool down Sandor's fever. She splashed a bit onto their last clean cloth and dabbed at his forehead and neck. She wondered if this really would help in the long run or if she was just doing this for him pointlessly.

When she felt she'd wiped him down enough, she set the washing cloth and flask aside and bowed her head to pray. She hoped the gods would answer her prayers. They certainly hadn't with the rest of her family, surely they would now.

For a while there, Sansa really thought the Gods were ignoring her every word.

It didn't look like his fever would break the next day or the day after that. He hardly woke those first two days and, when he did, he was feverish and unsure as to what was happening. He never got violent, but he begged her to spare him, as if she was trying to hurt him. She tried to sooth him, went down the washing cloth and dabbed at his forehead. He screamed, cried, begged her, "Stop burning, please…"

It broke her heart to see him so vulnerable and in pain, but she did what she had to do. She kept with him, tried to ease his pain and make him as comfortable as possible. He flailed, struggled with her, begged her, and eventually fell back into an unconscious state, restless. She sat beside him, unsure what to do now that he'd settled down. She tried to feed him a bit of food at some point that day, but he wouldn't wake again and she worried he would choke if she tried forcing it in his mouth.

Day four was a bit more fruitful. She woke up suddenly, feeling Sandor shift beside her. Immediately, she sat up and turned over so she could look at him. His eyes were clearer than she'd seen them and, at first, she wasn't sure if he had a fever. When she reached out to touch him, Sansa immediately noticed he was hot to the touch. He shrugged off her hand and snapped, "The fuck are you doing here?"

"How are you feeling?" she asked, ignoring his question. "Are you hungry or-?"

He snarled at her, wrenching away from her touch. "Why the fuck are you still here? You stupid girl, you should have left me here to die." He fell back on the ground, moaning in pain. For a moment, Sansa could only stare in shock.

When she found her voice, she asked "Why would I do that? You were fine, Sandor!"

"Not fine, Little bird," he said, his voice rasping. He sounded so tired.

"You're going to be. I'll make you better," she promised, reaching for a flask to give him some water. "Try drinking some water and I'll get you some food."

"I won't touch a bit of it," he growled, turning his head from her. She huffed in response and decided to just grab the food to start with. She pulled over the bag of food, reached in for some bread and the dried meat.

"You're going to eat this," she told him, her voice firm. When he continued to look away from her, she said, "If you won't eat this now-"

"Fuck you," he snarled, turning to look at her. "I gonna die, might as well save the damn food-"

"No! You're not going anywhere! You're going to get better and we're going to keep riding!" Her voice cracked, evidence that she was going to start crying. She wiped at her eyes angrily, and said, "Now, eat this food before I make you!"

He snarled at her. When she continued to sit there, watching him with narrowed, watery eyes, he finally took the food from her hand. When she handed it all over, he took one look at it and chucked it as far as he could across the clearing. It barely made it a few feet from where they were sitting. She stared at the food for a moment, a lost look on her face. She glanced back at Sandor, back at the food, and then, slowly, she bowed her head and buried her face into her hands. Her shoulders shook, although she was silent. It was obvious she'd begun to cry. "Fucking hells, Little Bird," he muttered, his voice hoarse. "Come here."

She shook her head, rubbing at her eyes and sniffling. Instead of doing what he was bid, she scooted over and picked up the food on the ground. She looked at the bread, the meats, and decided whether or not they would be able to eat them still. Reluctantly, she brushed off the dirt from the bun and meat and tucked them back to the pack. She could hear him calling her, and eventually, he said loudly enough, "Get the fuck over here 'fore I gotta get up." The threat in his voice was clear. And he knew she wouldn't want him to stand up or move at all.

Slowly, she made her way back over until she was beside him. He grabbed a hold of her, tugging her so she pressed up against his side, as if she'd flee. She wouldn't move. "I'm not going to let you go," she said quietly, not looking up at him.

"Fucking hells, girl, stop acting like I'm some sort of savior or one of your stupid knights," he snapped, sounding tired and angry all at once.

She shook her head. "You aren't a Knight or savior. You're Sandor Clegane, the Hound. You're part of my Pack. You're my Hound. And I'll be your stupid, naïve Little Bird who believes all anyone does is crap out rainbows and protects the weak. I'm going to make sure you're okay. You will be okay." The way he looked at her, as if she'd said something he never expected, made her flush. But she didn't think, didn't hesitate to do what she did next. She leaned in and pressed her lips against his firmly. She relished in the feel of his lips on hers, his scruff and scars both rough against her. Even as he tensed and the corner on his lip twitched under hers, she didn't pull away.

It wasn't until he tangled his hand into her hair and he began to kiss her back that she pulled away. He looked so different in that moment, unsure of what to do or say. She rested her head on his chest and firmly repeated, "My Hound." She wasn't sure if Sandor heard what she said, but the way he had tensed made her think that perhaps he really had.

**~A/N~**

**FINALLY. This chapter is complete. It had to be the worst one I've ever tried tackling. I finished it up last week. And all I had was 2.5 pages! It was pretty much just bones and skin, there was no muscle to it whatsoever. SO of course I have to go rewrite it. And then again. And again. But now, it's twice as long and then some. Chapter Eighteen is flowing a bit better than this one, but so far there's barely a page and a half. I hope it will update sooner than this one had!**

**Thank you for sticking with it for so long!  
**

**R&amp;R**

**XmX**


	18. Chapter Eighteen: Truth

**Chapter Eighteen**

Sansa was confused beyond comprehension. She didn't know what to think, to say, or to feel. She knew she should have been happy that Sandor's fever was slowly dropping or that the angry red wounds were turning pink and healthier. Instead, she felt dread. She didn't know what he was going to do or what he would say to her once he was well enough to get up and move and shout. Because she had done it. She'd done the one thing she told herself she should forget had ever happened; she kissed Sandor Clegane.

The worst part of this whole situation was she couldn't stop thinking about it. She couldn't stop imagining what it felt like to kiss the ex-Knight. Even as he lay there, recovering and healing, she could only imagine kissing him. When he cursed her and blamed her for his pain, she could only think about silencing his rough words with her lips. While they lay there at night, with Sansa curled into him and Grey Wind against the cold, she thought about scooting up so she could kiss him as much as she wanted.

It made her wonder if there was something wrong with her. She was barely a young woman! She shouldn't be fantasizing about a man like the Hound. He wasn't a pretty Knight she'd always imagined, nor was he kind or gentle. He was scarred and cruel and crude. He had no family connections, certainly had no manners. He should have been the last person she would ever imagine…

He was everything to her though. He was part of her pack, her family now, and so much more aside from that.

Had she really fallen for him so badly?

They'd been traveling with each other for so long; Sansa couldn't even truly remember how long it had been. She'd grown fond of his harsh words, crude actions, and his obsessive need to make sure she could protect herself. There wasn't anyone else she could imagine traveling with, being with. He was her companion, her pack member. Now she knew she would never let anything get in the way of that.

She was determined to make their situation as easy going as she possibly could. During the day, she was the perfect healer. She used cool water thrice a day to bring down his fever. She kept vigilant watch over his wounds, and fed him as much food as she possibly could. He consumed whatever food she put in front of him, suddenly compliant and very much quiet around her. She didn't mind, so long as he got stronger and his wounds continued to heal.

At night, that was a different story altogether.

At first, Sansa could hear animals roaming around and creeping closer and closer to their fire and smell of food. It made her nervous and tense. She couldn't sleep those first two nights at all. She worried the smell might draw them in closer or the animals might get bolder the longer they stayed in the woods. Grey Wind was quick to reassure her otherwise. If any of the noise got too close, the direwolf chased off whatever animals were skulking by. He came back to her and slept beside her. Any noise had him up in an instant, so she knew they were safe.

It was another two days before Sandor wasn't so weak. By that time, he was asking for his wine. When she quietly admitted to using the last bit on his wounds, he cursed her. He yelled, called her so many names she wouldn't even dare begin to repeat, and groused about until he was too tired to continue. Even as he got stronger with food, the lack of wine almost crippled him. She knew that wine was something a man could become reliant on and the Hound certainly had. Without it, he was sure to be in excruciating pain with withdrawal. She craved to help relieve his distress, but her presence only seemed to make it worse. He snarled at her when she tried to help. He almost refused to let her touch him completely. She wondered what was upsetting him more; that she had kissed him or she refused to end his life. He'd begged her plenty of times to take the knife and do it, but when she refused, he seemed to shut her out. She hated to be treated this way because she wanted him to live.

But if the kiss was what was bothering him, why didn't he say anything? If he really hated her kissing him that much, why hadn't he shoved her away? She didn't want him to hate her for what she'd done. She wished to tell him the kiss didn't have to mean anything, that she'd panicked in the moment he might end up dying.

But damn it, she didn't mean a word of that the more she thought about it. She wanted it to mean something, wanted to kiss him, and do so much more. He'd protected her from the worst of King's Landing, taken her away to try to find her a safe haven. Surely he hadn't stolen her away from her demons because he was drunk. Even in a drunken haze, why would he have thought about her at all anyhow? She shouldn't have mattered to him at all, shouldn't have been on his mind at all. She thought he'd hated her then.

Despite all of these thoughts swirling in her head, she figured it was more important to worry about his healing process. The wounds weren't angry red anymore, but his fever was slow to go down. She hoped some of this had to do with the fact he was healing, but Sansa had no experience treating the wounded aside from the tiny bit when she helped Melly with Sandor's burns. She worked with him every day, slowly bringing up his energy and waiting for the moment he would tell her he wanted her gone.

Perhaps he was just waiting until he had enough energy to take care of himself at this point.

But… he had told her that he wouldn't ever just abandon her.

Then again, that was before she'd done the unthinkable and kissed him.

She felt lost and frustrated and all she wanted to do was talk to him. They needed to figure this out, one way or the other. She didn't care if he was really so repulsed by the idea of her, but she had to make sure he would stick around with her until they found her a new home. She needed him. He was the one person she could trust, who she truly wanted to be around. No one else mattered at this moment. And, while she wanted to clear the air somehow, she knew for both of them it was probably best to wait.

So that was what she did for many days and nights, until she'd lost count. Eventually, Sandor started sitting up and moving around a bit. He was gruff with her and short tempered, but Sansa bit her tongue and didn't say a thing to his mean words. She tried to be patient with him, knowing the lack of wine and what she had done had put the Hound on edge. At times, when she could tell he was in a particularly foul mood, she avoided him altogether. The time away did give her a chance to work her shoulder and practice with her sword. For her sword work, she wished that Sandor would help her, but he barely spoke to her, much less offer to help her. She wondered if she was doing it right all the time, but without his help, she wasn't sure. It was frustrating she could only do the same cuts and swings each time she scurried off from him.

It all started going the same every day. They didn't bother to move, even as Sandor got stronger. She couldn't be sure how many days had passed. Then, one early morning while they were eating in total silence, Sandor said suddenly, "We gonna start riding again."

Sansa froze, the hard bread part way to her mouth. "What do you mean?" she asked lamely.

An annoyed expression spread on his face and the corner of his mouth twitched. "You not able to understand what I mean when I said we're going to ride again?"

"T-that's not what I meant," she stammered. "I just… Will you be able to ride now?"

He snarled at her, "I'm not some weak pup that needs to be treated like a child. I'm a fucking grown man who knows when the hell he's ready to move again."

She ducked her head and nodded silently. She didn't know what it was, but she didn't have the same fire she'd started to develop now that Sandor was fairly avoiding her. Finally, she managed out, "As long as you're ready… Where will we be going?"

"You said you wanted to go North. We go there, I drop you off at the Wall and make my own way to wherever the hell I can find next."

Sansa froze at his words. His own way? "You're just going to leave?" she asked quietly. She couldn't look up to them.

"You want to go to your brother, at the Wall? What do you think will happen once he has you there safely?"

"He wouldn't send you away," Sansa said. "He'll know you've been here for me, to protect me. And the worst isn't over-"

"Who the fuck do you think I am?" he growled, looking at her as if she'd lost her mind. "I'm not your fancy-ass shining Knights who fight off all the bad, evil men and protect you. I kill people, I enjoy doing it. I'll be fucking damned if you make me off as one of these story people who don't exist in this world."

"Sandor-"

"Finish up the damn food and get on the mare." He stood up before she could continue her sentence and turned towards their makeshift camp. Sansa stared after him, lost for words. She should have been used to his short temper and the not-real conversations that had existed since he'd begun to heal. But, he'd never been quite so bad in such a short amount of time. Usually he'd mock her a bit or tell her she was being stupid and childish, but he'd never dismissed her like that since they'd left King's Landing.

Grey Wind came to her side when he finally returned from hunting, panting and looking pleased. She tangled her hands into his fur for a moment and closed her eyes. "I think I may have done something bad, Grey Wind," she whispered. The direwolf looked at her, his ears up and his head cocked to the side as if he was waiting for her to explain. The sight made her smile softly and she reached out to kiss him on his muzzle. He licked her face in return, making the Stark giggle, his tail twitching briefly, and off he ran to loop the surroundings again. She got to her feet slowly, wrapping up what was left of her fish and tucking it away for later. She managed to collect up a few fish and a few limp berries, so the dried meat and nuts were still in supply.

When she looked around the camp, it was obvious Sandor had made quick work of their items. Almost everything had been packed up. The cloaks were hanging on a nearby branch and the sleeping mat had been rolled up and strapped to Malia. The rest of the packs were separated equally between Malia and Stranger. So he was planning on riding separately then. Maybe that was for the best…

Neither of them said a word as they gathered up the few remaining objects scattered on the ground, including a book Sansa had been reading and Sandor's flasks they had used for water. She stuffed everything into what remaining space they had, wrapped her cloak around herself and carefully folded up Sandor's White cloak. For several long moments, she stared at the discolored fabric, from the blood during the battle of Blackwater Bay all the way to the soil that had accumulated overnight. She glanced at Sandor and, after she noted his back was still turned to her, she tucked the cloak in on Malia's saddle and climbed up after it.

Sandor took one more look over the ground, grabbed his own cloak hanging, and then got on Stranger. He barely gave her a glance before he spurred Stranger into motion. Sansa whistled sharply, enough to get Grey Wind's attention. Once she was certain the massive direwolf was following, she started off after the black warhorse.

Riding proved to be fruitful for the Hound, who started them off as hard as he could. He rode them straight through without stopping. They didn't bother to stop to eat, not even long enough to relieve themselves. Sansa bit her tongue through it all. She could see the way Sandor slouched in the saddle at moments or the growl she sometimes caught when Malia got close enough. He was exhausted, probably more than she was. Only a few of his wounds had closed, but the gashes on his torso and back were not healing. He'd opened up the wounds more than once since he'd started sitting up and moving around the camp.

She wished she could say something or do something to make him feel better, but in the end she knew the only thing she could do was sit here and wait for him to stop. She just hoped he wouldn't struggle with her in the evening when she would check his wounds.

When the stopped eventually, the sky nearly black, Sansa was quick to put together a fire before she couldn't see at all and insisted Sandor sit near it so she could see his injuries. He grumbled and shook off her helping hands, but when it came time to look at the cuts, Sandor didn't argue. She pulled out a stained, but clean wiping cloth and poured a bit of the previously boiled water into a carved bowl. Then she settled out in front of Sandor first so she could get a good look at his torso.

Thankfully, the stitches hadn't torn through the skin, but he was leaking a bit from the gash. She dipped the cloth into the water and dabbed at the wound with gentle fingers. "I think this one is beginning to close up," she finally said. "The stitches are staying in place and-"

"Fine," he grunted, cutting her off. He almost seemed to be moving away from her, his muscles bunching under her touch.

She stood up from the ground and made her way behind him. The wound on his back always worried her the most. It looked worst compared to the rest. She couldn't tell if the wound was ever healing and seemed to drain far more than any other she had seen before. She used the water and cloth to wipe off the dried bloody fluid from his back slowly, her free hand pressed gently to his back for some stability. She watched the muscles tense and release beneath her hands. Her eyes roamed the scars littered across his back, from the tiny nicks to the largest scars. She wondered how he got each one.

By now, she knew she'd wiped away all the blood, but she didn't want to move away. Sandor would immediately shut down again and turn away from her for the rest of the night. She almost ached to reach out and touch him. Instead, she set the cloth in the soiled water carefully and reluctantly scooted away from Sandor. "The stitches are holding good," she said, her voice quiet. She didn't even bother to look after him when he stood up and started getting ready to settle down for the evening. She took the water and tipped the bowl once she was far enough away.

They nibbled on bits of dried meat and what was left of the fish from breakfast. Sansa should have been hungry, her stomach should have rumbled and growled. She should have consumed all the food she could get her hands on. Instead, her stomach was in knots and she almost felt sick. She didn't want to eat anything. She didn't want to think about the fact in a short while Sandor would be gone from her life. She wasn't even sure if there was a thing she could do about it.

The sky was completely dark by now. She could barely see outside of their ring of fire, but Sandor had no problems going over to Stranger and Malia and getting the forest ground ready to sleep on. The chill of the evening was settling in, much colder than the last few nights. A glance over near the fire told her Sandor was preparing for another cold night as well. He had the sleeping mat and the cloak he'd been using lay out near the fire, as close as he would dare. She did notice he didn't have the white cloak with him. Had he not seen it tucked between the packs on Malia?

She stood up and slowly made her way through the dark towards her mare. She could hardly see a thing after she left the small light from the flames. She stumbled more than once while she walked over, from roots poking out of the ground to several rocks she slipped on. But she made it to her mare without any real injury. She found the cloak easily enough, so tucking it in close to her chest, she made her way back over to the fire and to Sandor. He barely looked up at her as she crouched down on the ground beside the sleeping mat.

Without saying a word to each other, they both knew it was time to rest. Sansa spotted Grey Wind circling the camp, marking what their territory to scare off any potential predators. She knew he would curl up near her whenever he was ready, so she didn't worry about the direwolf. Sandor settled out on the ground first, almost curled away from Sansa. He had his freshly scarred arm tucked into his chest and his head propped up with pack of fabrics, angled just enough where he couldn't look at her. Sansa followed his example, although she curled herself up to Sandor as close as she dared. She tucked her knees up towards her chest to keep a bit warmer and closed her eyes.

Sansa couldn't sleep. Even when Grey Wind finally came to her and curled up between her and Sandor's feet again, she was restless. Sandor took a long time to finally rest and even when he did sleep, he muttered and twitched and moved so much more than when he had the wine to drown himself in. She tried adjusting on the hard ground, but she eventually settled on her side so she could look at Sandor.

His brows were furrowed together and he was muttering in his sleep, something of fire and demons. She knew he never really slept now, not without the help of wine to lull him into a dark abyss he couldn't wake from. He was tense and twitched. Without thinking of it, she reached out to touch him, to sooth what had to be nightmares.

The moment her hand touched his arm, for a brief moment feeling the new scars, his eyes popped open. She pulled away from him instantly, her eyes wide, waiting to see what he might say. They stared at one another for a long time. Then he shifted away from her and started to turn on his other side so his back was to her. She waited until he was settled, then got close enough so that she could wrap an arm around his torso and press her forehead to his broad back. Sandor didn't move. "You were muttering and moving in your sleep. I was worried, you haven't slept well in a long time," she whispered.

"Don't worry about me none, girl," he muttered.

"…Are you dreaming about fire?" At her words, she could feel the tension in his whole body. She closed her eyes and continued. "I'm sorry that happened to you."

"What the fuck are you talking about?" he growled lowly.

She swallowed nervously, and then slowly managed out, "I heard what had happened, with the Moun-"

"Don't you fucking say his name. How the hell did you hear about that?" He'd sat up so quickly she couldn't react when he grabbed hold of her. She could see how angry he was and wondered if it was because she was asking about it or if she wasn't supposed to know about it at all. She could faintly remember Petyr Baelish's words at the Hand's Tourney, but at this point she didn't care.

"There were stories, around King's Landing. I'd assumed-"

"Don't ever fucking assume anything about me girl!" He almost shook her, but she didn't care.

Grey Wind sat up at the raised voice. To Sansa's surprise, he began to growl. She spared a quick glance to the direwolf, but he wasn't focused on either of them at all. Sandor must have noticed it at the same time, for he let go of her immediately and grabbed hold of his sword lying on the ground next to them. Sansa fumbled to pull out the needle thin sword and moved to stand behind Sandor.

Grey Wind stood up and slinked towards the edge of the clearing, low to the ground. "Watch behind me," Sandor rasped softly, "Don't know if we're surrounded or not." She nodded and turned at once. She tried to make out anything or any person, but she was blind in the darkness surrounding them. Grey Wind began to stalk around their little circle he'd claimed as theirs, a low rumble in his chest as a warning to whatever was out there.

They stood there for some time, watching the direwolf circle again and again. Whoever or whatever was out there wasn't coming in any closer. Finally, Sandor told her lowly, "Get the mat rolled up and we'll make our way over to the horses."

"What if that's what they're waiting for?" she whispered, risking a glance back at him.

"Wolf of yours hasn't tried lunging yet. You finish getting packed, I go with the animal and scout the surrounding forest. If you hear me shout, you go with that damn mare and put as much distance as possible. The wolf'll lead us back to you when it's safe."

"I can't leave either of you. Let me help. I can defend myself," she argued, feeling a burst of fear. "We can scout together, keeping cover of each other's back-"

Grey Wind's snarl interrupted their conversation. A man, no boy, not much older than Sansa was knocked to the ground, under the direwolf's massive body. He was fairly quivering in fear, a blade about twenty feet from Grey Wind. At once, Sandor made his way over to them. He stopped long enough to pick up the short sword and inspect the blade. Then, he put it under his boot, snapped the blade right in half and continued on.

It wasn't until he physically grabbed hold of the stranger's tunic that the direwolf stepped away, wary. "What the fuck are you doing here?" he snarled, shaking him good. "You trying to sneak up in the night, slit our throats, and steal our goods? Or you wantin' the girl, get yourself a good go before robbing us blind?"

Sansa almost wanted to say something, maybe defend the stranger. But she remembered what had happened the last time she had tried to be nice; a man had spit on her, called her a whore, and shoved her to the ground. She watched helplessly as Sandor questioned the man, never really letting go of him.

Sandor didn't bother to let him go until the stranger had pissed himself and babbled out every single excuse he could think of. The stranger fell to his knees, blubbering every sentence of thanks he could. As the Hound stood there, listening to his words, the Ex-knight met her eye and snapped, "You want to know what it's going to be like being with me, traveling? I won't be that damn pretty Knight nor will I be a pissy ass honorable man."

She didn't bother to look away as Sandor took hold of the stranger's head and slit his throat.

**~A/N~**

**My god. This was the most painful chapter to write of all time. And it's still weird and awkward, like it's just not supposed to exist. Honestly, I'm not even sure if it has a point to the story! But I got to a stopping point and I was happy to end it. The next chapter (so far) has flowed decently enough and I think I have Chapter twenty planned as well, if things flow according to what I planned out.**

**Thank you for sticking around with this story, I will try to update it quicker than this.**

**R&amp;R**

**XmX**


	19. Chapter Nineteen: North

**Chapter Nineteen: North**

Sansa stood there, watching the stranger as he stared at her. Blood spilled from his throat, coating his tunic and breeches and the ground in front of him. The noises that came from the dying man's mouth could haunt someone's dreams. If she had been the same girl from Winterfell all that time ago, she probably would have heaved all over the ground and fled from the area. As it was, Sansa was different now. She didn't even flinch watching him die, kept her gaze with the stranger's until the man went slack and she fairly watched the life disappear right from his eyes.

Sandor was watching her, waiting for some sort of reaction. He continued to hold the stranger up by his hair, as the rest of his body slumped forward and he continued to bleed across their camp floor. She waited and waited, staring at the body, until finally Sandor let go and the dead stranger fell onto the ground. Then she raised her eyes and met his gaze. "Am I supposed to be horrified?" she asked, eerily calm. "Did you expect me to run from you or flinch away from your very existence? I know what to expect out of this world, how men are in this world. You haven't done anything that isn't necessary to protect us. I understand-"

"This," he spat, kicking at the body on the forest floor, "Is all you'll get out of me. I don't know what stupid fantasies you've cooked up in that naïve head of yours, but I'm a killer, an ugly brute. I won't be polite to no one, won't stop killing. I'll kill and fuck and drink until I'm in the damnable ground!"

Sansa bristled at his words immediately. "I don't care about that! I'm not innocent to any of this. I've been beaten, tortured by a boy, nearly raped, shot through with an _arrow_, and I killed many men. I watched my father's head fall off his shoulders. My brother was paraded in front of me and my mother dragged through the dirt to be thrown in a lake-"

"I fucking told you, that wasn't her," he interrupted, stalking up to her.

"I know what I saw! And that's not the point that's going on here! What happening is the fact you're trying to scare me away and it won't work!"

"What the fucking hells am I supposed to do?!" he bellowed, his rasping voice echoing in the woods. "You're the only Stark that's left to take back your precious home and stabilize the damn North! You're going home and you'll marry that pretty little Lordling you always went on about."

"I don't want it!" she yelled back, shoving at his large frame. He barely moved, but that didn't stop her from continuing. "I don't want to be a piece that Lords and Ladies can move around and control. I'm my own person. I make my own decisions. I will decide where I go and who I'm with and if I want someone. And I've decided what it is I'm going to do with my life! That doesn't include marrying myself off to make some sort of alliance in the North to go to war yet again." She was breathing heavy by the end of her rant, glaring at the scarred ex-Knight in front of her.

To her frustration, he began to laugh at her and then, still chuckling, said, "You think you're going to have a choice in the matter? What happened to that chirping I heard? Wasn't it was your _duty_ to marry and have children? You've been nothing, but a stupid, naïve girl and now you're still going on with the stupidity that someone like me could make you happy."

There it was, the true problem of the situation. "I know you! I've been with you for so long, there's no pretty illusions on who you are. There hasn't been since I met you. You've known me through my naivety and the worst times of my life. You didn't give me pretty promises nor have you lied to me. You protected me from the worst and you freed me from my cage. I could… I could l-love you, easily, if given the chance to try." She was wide-eyed, surprised by her own words, and extremely flushed. It was hard to meet his eyes.

She waited for his response, shivering in the chill of the night. Then, he said, voice short and quiet, "Get the mat rolled up. We're riding. Now."

Her head snapped up. Already, he was walking away. "Sandor, I want to talk about this-"

"I'm not talking to a stupid, delusional girl about her fantasies. Either get the supplies together or else I'm riding off without you," he snapped back, still not looking at her. He started to walk away from her.

Tears of shame burned in her eyes. She managed out, "You're the one who started this!" He paused at her words, but wouldn't look at her. "You kissed me that day, back at the Inn, just after the Wedding. I never wanted to think about this. I probably wouldn't have, if it wasn't for that night. I wanted to be the girl who listened to what she was supposed to do, to marry who she was supposed to. Things are different now. I know what it is I want and it's you! And if you don't want me, then maybe it's best we do go our separate ways." She spun around without waiting for a reply and started towards the fire for the cloaks and sleeping mat. A glance over her shoulder showed Sandor still walking off, god knows where.

Her chest felt tight, but now she knew what he really thought. He didn't want her. So, she wouldn't try to go after him. They'd make their way up to the Wall, he'd leave her alone up in the cold and she could take solace in her last living sibling. Jon wouldn't understand what it was she was upset about, but he wouldn't question her either.

Collecting up everything took mere moments to be done. She was just beginning to untie Malia from the branch when Sandor returned, adjusting his breeches. He took one look over the camp and started to Stranger. She hoisted herself up on Malia, watched Sandor do the same with Stranger. He walked the warhorse over to the fire, uncorked a flask, and dumped the water on the flames. Then, without pausing, he started off into the woods. She followed after, wondering what would be in store next.

Sansa had forgotten how hard it was to ride in the dark. The only thing that made the ride worse was Sandor's attempts to flee from her. It was nearly impossible to see in the dark, to keep an eye on the trail, or to watch after a nearly invisible rider. Most of the times, she had to listen to find the direction Sandor had gone in because she couldn't keep him in sight.

She stumbled along blindly through the woods for nearly an hour before her companion finally led them onto the Kingsroad. While it was unnerving to be out in the open like this, Sansa understood the necessity for it. The risk for the horses to break a leg or throw their riders off was slimmer and the ride was much safer. This also gave Sandor the time to press them forward, riding harder and faster than Sansa could remember since the Wedding.

By the time the sun started to rise, Sansa's legs aches and the lack of sleep was catching up. She was drained, physically and emotionally, and she avoided looking at the Hound at all costs. His presence made her feel out of place and almost unwelcome. His answer to her made it clear he didn't want her and that idea made her extremely uncomfortable.

Why had she thought admitting she felt something for him was a good idea? More importantly, when did she decide to call this curiosity "love"? That alone confused her, but the more she dwelled on the idea, the more she realized the confession was true. She loved his gruff attitude and his inability to be polite. His crude words and the way he smelt of wine made her feel at home. Even his scars were perfect, in their own way. Everything about him was a story and a past she longed to know now.

Unless… Maybe the Hound was right. Maybe she had convinced herself of all of this, by being her naïve self, dreaming up a fantasy she knew couldn't happen. Because, there were things she would need from the Hound, if he had ever wanted her in the first place. She would have wanted to be wedded to him in the Weirwoods, at the base of a Heart Tree. She'd want to offer herself to him, to be claimed as his, and to take his name and be his wife. She had dreamed of this day since she was a child.

As a child, Sansa had thought over every instance, from the moment she met her husband. Before, when she had been young and stupid and foolish, the picture had been blurred, as she hadn't really focused on the man at that time. She worried more of the details, the first time she would meet her husband up until they married. Now though, she had a clear picture of everything. From the first moment she truly met the man of her dreams, where they'd been surrounded by the glow of the green wild fire, the man covered in soot and blood, and she reached up to touch the scars on his face, to now out in the woods on the run…

Her heart ached thinking about it and she cursed herself for being a stupid child again.

Sandor had made his beliefs clear. He didn't believe in any of the Gods, the old or the new. He wasn't willing to take any vows to be part of the Kings Guard. So it was even harder to believe that he would be willing to take a vow underneath the Heart Tree, to be tied to her for the rest of his days and weighed down by a wife and eventual children. She couldn't lie to herself about that. She knew what he wanted and what he expected. Her and marriage was definitely not in his life plans.

It would be best to go to the Wall, to Jon. If Sandor disappeared from her life, she would survive and move forward. He wasn't a necessity, she would be fine.

Thinking over this and playing with all of her options helped move the day quickly through the chill and silence on the road. Sansa thought over everything, gazed the forestry around her, and eventually tried to figure their exact location. She knew they had cut over, so that they were just past the Twins, but not close enough to the North to make her feel safe. Still, she knew that was coming. The forestry around them had begun to change, the air grew almost frigid, and a light dusting of snow covered everything.

She was almost home.

Nearing evening, still in total silence, snow had begun to fall again. Grey Wind bounded between the trees and the Kingsroad, feeling at home. Sansa couldn't keep the grin off of her face, happy to be so close to home despite the lack of energy she felt. She tugged her cloak tighter around her middle to fight off the increasing chill and tried to catch the snowflakes on her fingertips. Each flake melted almost instantly at her touch, but on the ground, the snow stayed solid.

Sandor started to curse as the sky darkened. He pulled Stranger to a stop, quickly looking over their surrounded area. Eventually, still not looking at her, he groused out, "Gonna have to stop in an Inn tonight, ground'll be wet and too cold. Should be fine this far away from the Freys." Sansa nodded, trying to focus on anywhere but his face. She noticed a light discoloration on his tunic near his stitches and wondered if he ripped a stitch.

He barely grunted at her before turning Stranger away and taking the lead once more.

They rode for a while longer, until Sandor finally found an Inn for them to rest at. The place itself looked a bit crowded, but he didn't seem too concerned. Sansa didn't care in the least; she was so tired she was slumped over in her saddle and aching terribly between her legs. Sandor dismounted before she had a chance to stop. He waited for her as she managed to swing her leg over to one side, but when she tried dismounting, she almost collapsed to the ground in exhaustion.

Sandor's gaze felt like knives on her back, so she told him quietly, "Go see what they have for rooms right away. I'll get Malia and Stranger settled in." Her eyes fixed on Malia's flank and her shoulders hunched, Sansa waited until she heard Sandor's retreating steps to relax. She glanced over at Stranger and noticed Sandor had already settled him into a stall.

Malia was her first priority, as the mare had a tendency to wander. She did look more exhausted than usual. The injury to her flank looked healed up, but Sansa wondered if the wound bothered her once in a while. She pet the mare for several moments, murmuring softly to her, and eventually giving her a bit of alfalfa to munch on as she untied their supplies.

Stranger wasn't quite as nice. He let Sansa get close enough to take off the packs, but he snapped at her the moment she tried to get closer. She managed to give him a bit to eat as well, but it was difficult and some of the alfalfa was loosened across the stall instead. Sansa huffed and told him, "I'm just trying to make you comfortable." But the warhorse didn't seem to care too much.

Just as Sansa stepped outside of the stables, Grey Wind sidled up beside her. She ran her fingers through his thick coat and whispered quietly, "I'll come for you when it's safe. Listen, just in case anything happens." He rubbed his head against her hand, looked up at her for a moment, and then turned back towards the woods. She watched the direwolf until he disappeared into the tree line and then she turned her attention back to the Inn.

After hoisting up the packs and tucking the white cloak and sleeping mat under her arm, Sansa started towards the entrance of the Inn. She paused at one of the windows to peek inside. It was nearly packed full with people. The Hound was sitting in a back corner, already drinking out of a goblet. She noticed his eyes were trained on the door, as if looking for her. For a moment, she wondered what he would do if she didn't walk into the Inn, if she stayed out here and waited for him to come get her. Sansa shook the thoughts out of her head. "Stupid girl fantasies," she whispered, stomping her feet to shake off a bit of the chill that had started to creep in. She stepped away from the window and started towards the Inn.

Her hood was pulled up already and she had her head tucked down yet again as she pushed open the door. A wave of heat washed over Sansa. For a brief moment, she stood still, basking in the warmth, but she knew she couldn't keep standing there. It would do no good to draw unwanted attention to her. So, she closed the door, pinpointed Sandor's location, and started her way over there without another glance. No one tried to step in or talk to her, so she made it to the table relatively quickly. Sandor didn't say a word to her as she sat down, just shoved a platter piled with food in front of her. She didn't thank him back, simply picked up one of the present utensils and started in on the food. There were potatoes, mashed and covered in some sort of gravy, a small steak cooked thoroughly, a full loaf of bread and even some mead poured into a cup for her. Still on the table, there were at least three more servings for both of them. Her mouth started watering at the smell.

Before she could tuck in and consume the feast, Sandor interrupted her thoughts. "We're gonna have to stay here a few days."

She paused for an instant, still not looking directly at him. "Why is that?" she asked and took a dainty bite of her food.

"Need to get some new supplies," he muttered, shifting slightly. "Won't survive the travel if we don't get warmer clothes and more food. We'll need at least one more sleeping mat to keep off the wet ground, clothes to keep away the chill, and food since animals'll be scarce."

She nodded slowly, swallowing what she had started eating. "That's not a bad idea," she admitted, "Depending on where we're at now, we may be near the North's trading town. Father used to bring us once in a while. We would create tunics and breeches and fur-lined cloaks to give away for Winter and trade some of the crops harvested. If I remember correctly, it wasn't far from the Twins."

"I'll figure it out tomorrow." She nodded and continued to eat quietly. "Couldn't get a room where that bloody wolf of yours can get in."

"Where's it at?"

"Up the stairs at the far end. Not even a window this time 'round." And it would be nearly impossible to sneak Grey Wind in the middle of the night when they would have to pass so many rooms.

"I'm sure he'll be fine out on his own for the night," she murmured. It had been a while since Grey Wind hadn't been at her side. Still, she knew she'd trudge out and call for him and make sure the direwolf understood it was only temporary. But she doubted he would mind. Grey Wind had seemed to feel safe and more content now that they were in familiar woods and colder climates.

Sansa tried to finish eating as quickly as possible and consumed everything she could until she felt too sick to continue eating. The heat of the room had started to make her feel a bit uncomfortable and she was constantly on edge in fear that someone might recognize her. On top of that, she had been awake for so long she wasn't sure how she was still sitting up. "Go upstairs and sleep," Sandor ordered suddenly. Sansa looked up at him, finally meeting his eye for the first time in almost a day.

She almost argued, opened her mouth to say something, but she yawned widely instead. Finally, she asked, almost timidly, "You'll be here in the morning?"

An annoyed expression flitted across his face. "I told you girl, I'll take you to the Wall. Would do me no good now to leave you to fend for yourself."

She nodded and pushed back her seat. "I'll just go out and check on Grey Wind, then go to sleep."

"Got your blade with you?" Sansa nodded, briefly touching the hilt covered in her cloak. Sandor nodded and waved at one of the kitchen wenches for more wine. The redhead hesitated for just a moment, but the glare she got made her think otherwise.

"Good night, Sandor," she mumbled, her eyes on the floor. She turned and started back out the same way she'd just come from. Someone bumped into her as she was passing. She flinched away from the brief contact, but didn't stop moving. No one seemed to be coming after her. It was a sense of relief to push open the door and step out into the cold evening. Glancing quickly about herself told her she was alone still. It was dark outside, but the Inn gave a brief shine in the blackness. Fat, white snowflakes fell to the ground slowly, heavier than before, but still just as beautiful. Sansa tipped her head back for just a moment to gaze up at the never-ending sky and let the cold snow fall on her skin, as if she was trying to wash away the whole day. "It's so wrong," she whispered to the flakes, to the old Gods watching down above her, and to the stillness of the night. "Everything is just so wrong."

**~A/N~**

**I know, I know, it's a weird ending and a shorter chapter. The problem is, what I have planned wouldn't fit all in the same chapter. There would be too many breaks between scenes. It just wouldn't flow right all in one chapter. But I'm decently okay with how this one went together. Hopefully you all enjoyed the update, the next chapter should come out shortly.**

**Thank you so much for all the reviews and support. It makes me smile!**

**R&amp;R**

**XmX**


	20. Chapter Twenty: Stalled

**Chapter Twenty: Stalled**

The smell of blood reached her sense of smell and the taste was on her tongue when Sansa blinked open her eyes. She was staring down at the heavy snowfall, the ground blanketed in white. However, when she fixed her eyes on directly beneath her, the white was red. Blood was everywhere beneath her and she could smell it over her neck and chest and paws…

Paws?

Sansa was on all fours, in the woods, standing in the snow. A crow cawed above her head, but when she cocked her head to the side, she couldn't see a thing. Shaking herself out, her gaze focused back to the ground beneath her. That was where the dead animal came into view. She stared down at the carcass, filled with horror and a bit of hunger still. Her stomach didn't curl like she expected.

Slowly, she backed away from the blood, from the stench, despite the fact her mouth began to water. Then she turned and ran. Further and further away her powerful legs carried her. Sansa isn't quite in control of the body, whatever she is in, but the body seemed to understand she needed to go.

It's as she's running, when they started to speak. What had been a single crow high above her quickly turned to ten, then twenty, and more and more. They all started to swarm her, swooping down. They screamed, "_They're coming! They're coming!"_ and started to land on her, pecking at her.

She is no longer worried about the mess she had left behind. Now she is trying to escape. The crows are insistent, pressing closer and closer, drowning her in their ink black feathers. She tried to shake them off, but they cling to her, nipping and ripping off bits of her. Everything hurts. Her lungs began to burn, her legs throbbed in pain, and it felt as if she started to bleed. But her salvation is in sight; a creek. She doesn't even pause; she pushed on, almost flying across the ground in her speed.

And, as she's diving into the freezing cold water, she realized she is staring at the reflection of Grey Wind…

Sansa came to without a sound. Her heart was hammering in her chest, she almost felt like she was sweating. For several long moments, she just lay there, figuring where she was at. The room is still pitch black, aside from a tiny candle flickering in the corner of her room upon a table. Sandor isn't in the room. It doesn't look like he was there at all last night. Slowly, she scooted off the uncomfortable bedding and walked towards the candle. Next to the light is a platter of flat biscuits, a cooked potato, and a slice of seared pork.

The food was still warm to the touch. Had Sandor just brought the food up to her? Why hadn't he woken her? Wasn't there much to be done? Didn't he want to get rid of her? Slowly, she picked up the platter of food and settled back down on the bed. Her thoughts quite depressing, Sansa poked listlessly at the food. She knew it was important to eat, to consume what food was available, but what little of her appetite that had come back was gone again.

She forced herself to consume the biscuits and potato, but looking at the pork, she knew she would never finish it herself.

Perhaps Grey Wind might enjoy it.

This gave her a reason to check up on the direwolf too.

The dream hadn't shaken her up much, but Sansa still thought on it. Seeing Grey Wind would make her feel more confident that what she had seen was just a dream. All of her doubts about the dragons would also disappear. Somehow, she must have heard Daenery's Targareyn's name from her father, at some point or another, whether she had just stumbled upon the information. That and combined with the stories from Old Nan, it would make sense that she would dream about a Targaryen with dragons. It had to make sense.

She bundled herself into her cloak once more, tucked the thin sword and daggers within reach beneath the fabrics, and kept the pork hidden, so no one would be able to see her carry it out. If someone saw it, questions might come up and that was something Sansa desperately wanted to avoid.

Maybe she would even spot Sandor, wherever he might be at.

Peeking around the doorway, she realized the hall was completely empty. There wasn't even a sound that reached her ears from below. Perhaps the morning was still very early. Quickly, Sansa hurried down the hall and went even faster down the steps. She paused at the bottom of the steps and looked around. The dining hall was almost empty. A lone kitchen wench was wiping down the tables and another was scrubbing the dirtied floor, but there was no one else around. The girls didn't even glance up at her and she barely spared them a glance. Her eyes were trained on the front entrance.

Only after she shoved open the door and stepped outside did Sansa feel like she could breathe. She couldn't even bother to question her luck by the lack of strangers.

The outside was just as quiet. The air had a sharp nip Sansa hadn't felt in ages. Everything was blanketed in a layer of white. Overnight, the snow had piled on heavily, nearly past her ankles, and continued to fall, though the flakes were lighter now. The sun was high in the grey sky, making it near midday. With the sky and the air and snow, Sansa knew they were truly in the North. Which meant several things.

One, she was almost home.

Two, the outdoors would be colder now and harder to find shelter in the woods.

This meant Sandor was right. They wouldn't be able to travel like before. Supplies would need to be gathered; fur-lined boots, heavy cloaks and gloves, and thicker tunics and breeches. The clothes from the South were fairly useless now. Sansa would no longer be able to wear her riding dresses or her gowns she used to enjoy. Perhaps breeches and tunics for herself were better. The clothes might even help disguise her true identity better, until she reached Jon at the Wall.

Lost in thought, her feet carried her to the surrounding woods, where Grey Wind had bounded off through last night. Hopefully, he would still be around. There was no reason for him to have run off. The direwolf had seemed to understand she would be out in the morning…

Sansa was barely through the tree line when the smoke grey direwolf emerged from the shadows, his ears perked up and his muzzle high. She smiled at Grey Wind widely and, after quickly eying the surrounding clearing for a place to sit, settled on a small stump that looked somewhat dry. That was when she showed the direwolf the pork. He bounded over to her eagerly, eying the food. "Good morning," she greeted softly, reaching out to rub his ears affectionately.

Grey Wind whined in greeting, nudging her hand, his tail beating the ground lightly. Breaking off bits of the pork, she fed him the meat and nibbled on pieces of her own. The direwolf ate every delicious morsel offered and licked her fingers clean with a rough tongue. Then, he rested his head in her lap to be pet, despite his wet coat.

She did just that, starting with his head and ears and running her fingers through his course grey fur, while simultaneously checking the previous wounds. Each wound the arrows had inflicted had puckered up as a scar, finally healed and not infected. The relief to know Grey Wind would be fine, despite the many weeks of travel, was a weight off of her shoulder.

For the longest time, Sansa and Grey Wind sat out in the forest. Eventually, the direwolf wandered off a bit, sniffing and checking out the surrounding woods. She sat back, watching him with a soft smile on her face and eventually, she leaned over and scooped up a pile of snow into her hands. It was cold and wet in her hands and it didn't pack together very well, but she could sort of make a snowball.

The snowball brought back memories of Winterfell, when Arya and Robb and Jon always dragged the Stark children out to the godswood to play; Snow fights and forts and creating white castles as best as they could with the light snows. Memories of the snow on her lashes, the taste on her lips. It was a reminder of Winterfell, the last taste of innocence and dreams. The cold moisture made her heart ache, made her wish for the home she had lost.

Would she ever be able to see her home again? At this point, would she even want to return home?

Everything was lost; her father, her mother, Robb were all dead. Jon was at the Wall, no longer truly just her brother. Rumors were Bran and Rickon were dead as well. Arya had been unheard of since their father had been captured. She was the only true Stark left.

Sansa pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around herself, so she couldn't fall apart. If she held herself together, surely that would be enough.

Time passed without meaning. The Stark girl watched Grey Wind play in the snow banks, chase after little mice running underneath the white that only he could hear, and kept quiet. The forest was peaceful, silent, undisturbed. Shen thought of the Children of the Forest, the stories she had read. They were never disturbed with the political gains, hunted after for their heritage. At least, not in the storybook she had been reading. Of course, the histories of what truly happened to them were common knowledge to those in the North, but even so…

"What are you doing out here, girl?"

Sansa lifted her head from her knees and tipped her head toward Sandor. The ex-knight was leaning against the tree at the entrance of the clearing. He looked unamused by her sitting outside, a bit angry even. "I had Grey Wind with me and my blades. There's no reason to worry," she told him. He didn't answer her at first, watching her as if he expected her to do something more. Sansa stared at him for a few more moments, then turned her gaze back to Grey Wind. "Where were you last night?" she asked quietly.

"Stayed up late, listening to the dumb fucks barking their rumors," he muttered. "I needed to get an understanding what has been happening up here since the Red Wedding."

"I'm guessing there wasn't anything too important," she murmured, focusing again on Grey Wind. He must have caught that mouse finally; he was busy chewing away on something she couldn't see.

"… There's a bit more than that."

The tone of his voice made Sansa frown and look up. Sandor's face was impassive, as if he was waiting for her reaction. It made her feel helpless to know that whatever he might tell her now couldn't be any worse than what she had already seen. "There's nothing more you can tell me that would break what little spirit I have left. Everyone in my family is dead. Arya likely too."

She was the last one.

"…" He stared at her for several long moments, as if debating to share this news with her. Then, he said, "I found out more details regarding the wedding at the Twins."

"What other details could possibly be needed? Likely, the Lannisters made a deal with the Freys. They took the deal because of the slight my brother caused by marrying another girl and now both of them dead. There's nothing else that needs to be known."

"Don't be so naïve," he growled. "There's a lot more details, of the wedding and after. For instance, Roose Bolton was part of the attack."

Sansa stilled at that. Her brows furrowed together while her mind made the connection. "He was a bannerman for the North," she whispered.

"Worse than that, those fuckers have taken over the North. They are the Wardens now. Between them and the Greyjoys, the North is a disaster."

"Can we even travel through there now?" Thoughts began going in and out of her head; riding straight on the Kingsroad, traveling through the woods. Gaining passage by boat to the Wall. "We would be sitting ducks if we just traveled directly on the Kingsroad." Realization was beginning to dawn on her.

"The only other choices are the woods by the Kingsroad, as we've been doing or else by boat to the Wall."

She could almost feel herself deflating. "And there's no way that none of these families would just let me through…"

"Likely, you'd be sold off to the Boltons, possibly married off to whoever they would want," the Hound agreed. "If the Greyjoys got hold of you, I got no clue what those fuckers would do. Likely rape you, use you, and then sell you off to the highest offer."

"…" For the longest time, the Stark girl stared at her traveling companion, the man who had taken care of her since the Blackwater had burned. Her last chance to find something resembling a family was shattered. It could be months before they found a ship willing to take them so far North. And there were still chances of being discovered. "What should we do?" she asked quietly.

"Need to come up with a new plan. Likely it's impossible to travel on the Kingsroad. Finding a ship could be difficult, especially paired with that wolf of yours."

"I won't leave him behind," she said defensively, getting ready to argue. It was her last connection to Robb, to Mother and Father and she refused to give it up.

"Fucking hells, girl, I didn't say you'd be giving him up. But if you want to get to the Wall, safest passage is likely by boat."

"What about our chances with the woods again?"

"Don't know where the Bolton's reach stretches."

"… So what should we do?"

She felt hopeless and lost and wanted to have someone she could cling to. To cry to and express her frustrations and anger. Instead, all that was here was Sandor Clegane, the Hound. The man who didn't seem all too interested in sticking around. He was more than happy to leave her at the Wall, alone.

Why couldn't he be open with her? They'd been together for so long now, through so much. It was insane that he was okay to abandon her and leave to his own path. What was the point in taking her with him from King's Landing?

Sansa wanted to scream.

Instead, she buried further into herself and stared at the Hound for his answer.

He ran a hand through his hair, growling in frustration. "I don't know yet. I'll need a couple days to think of a plan. And we need supplies. The marketplace is at least half a day's ride from here and with the Boltons in control of the North…" Sandor didn't need to finish his sentence. She understood; even now, they weren't safe. If it wasn't one family, then it was another, and Sansa was exhausted.

Would she never find relief?

"Let's head to the marketplace for now and then think more on it tonight?" she sighed eventually, standing up. Grey Wind turned his attention in her direction, but with a wave of her hand, he went back to the snow.

"You can't go there," he said. "You'll sit in the room and wait there with your sword until I get back."

"I'm not just sitting around here and doing nothing!" she replied hotly, folding her arms over her chest. "I've done enough of that in my life, I won't do it again."

"Fucking hells, do you want to be sold off?!"

"We'll be fine! I'll keep my hood up, silent, and we can even pick up more of the coloring if you want. I just can't sit here and wait!" Sansa didn't care that her voice could carry through the woods.

The Hound snarled at her, looking angry, but he turned away and spat out, "Fine, come with. Don't think I didn't warn you." Then, he stalked off.

Sansa turned to Grey Wind quickly, tossing out, "We'll be back shortly!" and spun on her heel to follow. She didn't want to risk the Hound attempting to leave by himself.

He might want to get away from her now, but she wouldn't give him the chance to slip away.

**~A/N~**

**I'm sorry the update has been so late! I was stuck on this chapter over and over. I couldn't get this just right. I'm not sure I even like this now, but the next chapter seems to flow a bit easier than this one. I still have no clue where this will end. I've played with a few ideas, but none of them seem quite right. Thank you so much for hanging on and for all of the support!**

**R&amp;R**

**XmX**


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